


Captive Magic

by elle_wolfe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Anal Sex, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Intrigue, M/M, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Oral Sex, Political Alliances, Prostitution, Slow Burn, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-14 09:23:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 27
Words: 32,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8007856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle_wolfe/pseuds/elle_wolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Captive Prince AU. Harry Potter, crown prince of the Gryffindor kingdom, finds his world turned upside down when he is betrayed during a political coup and sent as a slave to the enemy kingdom where the heir apparent is none other than Draco Malfoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ONE

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own anything. JK Rowling owns all Harry Potter-verse things and CS Pacat owns all Captive Prince-verse things. I've merely read both and decided they should collide. :)
> 
> I took some liberties with both worlds. And if you haven't read the CP series, you definitely should! I'll try to update tags as I go.

 

If he hadn’t been ambushed, Harry might’ve been able to take them all. Unfortunately, they had caught him in the baths. It had been a long day, he had retired to the confines of his suite — easing his sore muscles in the quiet of a hot bath. He had barely a moment to himself before she entered.

“Fleur,” he murmured, spotting her flaxen blonde hair through half shut eyes.

She moved towards him wordlessly, a small smile across those plump lips. She sat on the edge of the marble tub and brought a hand to cup his face. His own hand reached up to cover hers.

“Join me,” he insisted.

“As you wish,” she cast the silk robe aside and stepped in with him. He felt her lips graze his as that same hand lowered itself, trailing down the front of his chest — lower. Suddenly Harry wasn’t as tired as he thought. He leaned into her touch and gave way to her ministrations. Soon he was incoherent and panting, barely a conscious thought when the door swung open once again. With Fleur’s hands separated from him, he began to regain clarity — in time to see a room full of wands pointed at him.

“What is the meaning of this?!” he demanded, “Who sent you?”

“We’re here on the king’s orders.”

“My father?”

“Your father is dead. Dudley is king.”

It was impossible, it couldn’t be. King James— his father, dead. And Dudley had somehow hoodwinked a kingdom into crowning him king. But no, Dudley had neither the ambition nor the cunning. Harry turned to Fleur in disbelief.

“What have you done!” he asked.

“You were never going to marry me,” she stood up and reached for her tossed robe, “All I did was choose between the two of you. You made my choice easier.”

Before Harry could reply a dozen spells came firing at him. The room went black.

 

* * *

 

 

When Harry came to himself, he was aware he had been heavily drugged. The last vestiges of it was still coursing through his veins. He had been dressed in Muggle clothing, his hands bound behind his back. Any jewelry, ornaments — anything that might have marked him as the prince of Gryffindor was removed. His wand was nowhere to be found. As his head began to clear, he took in his surroundings. This was not his palace. He’d wager this was not even his kingdom. Before he could muster another thought, Harry was roughly pulled off the floor and onto his knees.

“Is he the slave that Dudley sent for the prince?” a voice called. Raising his eyes slightly to take in the man, Harry recognized the emerald green and the serpent crest of Slytherin. Merlin, he was in Slytherin! But how was he still alive? There was not a soul alive in Slytherin who didn’t want to see Prince Harry James Potter dead. Perhaps they could not recognize him in this Muggle attire.

“Yes, he is the one,” the handler replied. A group of courtiers entered next before parting to reveal a young blond man. Like the rest of the court, he was impeccably dressed. Unlike the rest of the court, his attire was elegant in its simplicity. He was dressed head to toe in black save for the silk green that lined the interior of his coat, which flashed itself to the world whenever he moved. He wore no jewels save for a lone silver serpent ring. Where Fleur’s hair was more a golden, sandy blonde — his was an icy white. He was pale, all cheekbones and stormy eyes. To say he was beautiful was an understatement. To doubt he was anyone other than Draco Lucius Malfoy, heir apparent of Slytherin was a mistake.

The blond strode over to where Harry was kneeling. Sneering, the former peered down at the latter, “So you’re what the cat dragged in." He inched closer, “What’s your name?”

The handler interjected, “Slaves are typically named by their masters in Gryffindor. King Dudley had suggested the name Potter.”

A hush went over the room at that and Harry waited with baited breath.

“Apologies, your Highness,” the handler began again, “King Dudley had thought naming the slave after their late prince would be amusing. A joke made in poor taste.”

“Indeed. Leave us,” the young prince remarked dryly.

“Your Majesty, I do not believe that’s wise—“ a courtier interrupted.

“Luckily, I did not ask for your opinion.”

Immediately the room made itself sparse save for the handler who had Harry at wand point. Malfoy peered down at him, his expression unreadable, “You have a scar.”

Harry felt himself panic. His captors had removed any material markings of his identity, but they hadn’t thought to hide his signature scar, “It happened during a fight.” It was not a lie, but it was not the full truth. Something flashed across Malfoy’s face, but he reeled it in far too quickly for it to be assessed.

“Draco, are you mistreating our distinguished guest?” a voice called.

“Distinguished is hardly the word I’d use, Tom,” Malfoy answered.

The voice belonged to the Regent, Tom Riddle. He had been the late Slytherin king’s right hand man and the person the council had voted to commandeer the kingdom until Draco became of age. Where Draco’s features were light, Tom’s were dark. The two of them side by side was a sight to behold.

“Potter here is a gift from the new king of Gryffindor — a gesture of good will. What kind of message will it send if you were to mistreat his gift? You are to inherit this kingdom one day, it would do you good to exercise some diplomacy. Now you will not have the slave put to death, maimed beyond reason, or discarded. Is that understood?”

Malfoy pointed his chin up as if to say something, but then decided against that, “Yes, Tom.”

 


	2. TWO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own anything. JK Rowling owns all Harry Potter-verse things and CS Pacat owns all Captive Prince-verse things. I've merely read both and decided they should collide. :)
> 
> I took some liberties with both worlds. And if you haven't read the CP series, you definitely should! I'll try to update tags as I go.
> 
> Please forgive any spelling errors. I'm notoriously a fast typer and this has not been proofed by anyone other than myself. xx

Harry had been sequestered in his designated quarters for days. An adjoining bathroom and trays of food, appearing and disappearing when he was done, warranted no reason for him to leave. Alone, his thoughts drifted back to Malfoy. Unconsciously, he rubbed the lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead. He was so sure the ruse would be up then, but maybe the his actual image wasn’t quite as widespread as he had previously considered it to be.

The scar itself had been a souvenir from Malfoy senior, the late king Lucius during the Battle of Beauxbatons. Harry had been young, but not so young he had never fought before. He had beseeched his own father to allow him to fight. King James had relented and Harry flew in like the wind. There was a second recognizable scar on Harry, but few have actually seen it due to its placement. He was thirteen and had gotten into a scuffle with his cousin Dudley. Harry remembered the look on Dudley’s face as the older boy stood over him and kicked him viciously. Maybe the signs were there all along and Harry had chosen to turn a blind eye. 

He was roused from his thoughts by guards at the door. He was being summoned. Servants flooded the room and his Muggle clothing was removed — exchanged for the ornate clothing of his rival kingdom. He felt marked. Claimed. The guards flanked him as they escorted through the elaborate paths of the castle. They stopped in front of a set of double doors. They opened up to an expansive field with a familiar arena.

“Quidditch,” he said breathlessly.

“You play?” one of the guards asked.

“Only for fun.” It did him no good to mention he had been the youngest seeker Gryffindor had ever had. Harry continued to be led by the guards, taking the chance to survey the scene around him. It appeared the court was out in full display. The air rang with excitement. Men and women were dressed in their finest. Butterbeer and firewhiskey were aplenty. In companionship to the already ornately dressed courtiers were even more ornately dressed individuals. Beautiful, every single one of them, and barely dressed. Instead their decadence laid in their jewels (of which they were dripping in), their fine silks (which were bright and bold), and the alluring looks in all of their eyes. These were not noblemen and women, but rather their playthings. Pets. _This was Slytherin_.

Harry was unceremoniously pushed into a lowered seat next to a handsomely carved chair, of which the arms were silver serpents. Aristocratic fingers were tapping impatiently upon the serpent’s heads. Harry looked up to find a pair of grey eyes peering down at him.

“What did you do to make Dudley hate you?” Malfoy questioned.

“Hate me?” those words stung.

“Surely he didn’t send you here — _to me_ , out of love. Did you best him in something? Sportsmanship?” Malfoy peered at him with cool curiosity, “Perhaps there was a woman involved. _Fleur_ , isn’t that the name of his mistress? Were you fucking her? Or perhaps,” the blond paused for a minute before his mouth stretched into a wicked grin, “You were lovers and you strayed.”

Harry almost vomited on site. So repulsed he was that he barely managed a gargled sound in return. The grin on Malfoy’s face stretched wider. The other prince began to speak again, but his further torment of Harry was halted at the appearance of a female courtier. They greeted one another and Harry noted that the young woman with short, jet-black hair was named Pansy.

“Your new plaything is heating all the gossip,” she stated, “He’s nothing like the other pets.”

“A poor joke or perhaps a trick of espionage from Dudley,” Malfoy replied, “though he hardly seems to be in possession of a brain to concoct such scheming.”

“I understand it was supposed to be a peace offering, but surely you don’t buy into this alliance with Gryffindor. They’re reckless barbarians by nature and we all know what happened at Beauxbatons.”

“Tom is Regent. it was his decision to make,” Malfoy replied simply.

“You’ll be twenty-one soon. Of age to ascend the throne.”

“And until then, you will heed the Regent’s decision.”

The courtiers quickly took their seats as the game began. Within minutes, Harry was confused. While this game bore similarities to Quidditch, it was not Quidditch as he remembered. If anything, it was far more violent. While there were two teams, there was only one solitary seeker — the only player on the opposing team. The defending team was led by a hulk of a man named Goyle who played beater. In fact, he was just one of far too many beaters. Harry watched as the opposing seeker dodged bludger after bludger before being simultaneously knocked off his broom by one. It did not end there. As the other seeker fell, the beaters followed him down — continuing to smash bludgers in his direction. He was dead before he hit the ground. The crowd broke into a thunderous applause. This was not Quidditch; it was an execution.

“Pity,” Pansy remarked, “I had placed a wager that he would have lasted longer.”

In his shock, Harry did not feel the hands that had begun hauling him to his feet.

“While Tom said I couldn’t have you killed, he didn’t say anything about you getting yourself killed,” Malfoy whispered, “But don’t worry, all you have to do catch the snitch before Goyle catches you.”

Harry found himself in a nightmare within a nightmare. He was the lone seeker in an execution type alternate to Quidditch facing down a line of Slytherin players who were out for blood. He clutched the handle of his broomstick tensely. He knew he was a good flyer — the best Gryffindor had ever seen. Perhaps the best Slytherin had ever seen as well. He certainly hoped so as he kicked off.

 

* * *

 

Harry knew he had to find the snitch. It was his only way out of this mess alive. Goyle seemed like he had it out for him. Perhaps the brute had been promised a hefty reward for sinking Harry. They might have all been promised. He was used to dodging bludgers, but never this many and never without any help from his own beaters. He cursed loudly as one nearly rammed into him. They were beginning to surround him, the game had gone on for too long already without a hit. He was face to face with Goyle — the others pushing him toward the giant man when Harry spotted a fleck of gold behind his opponent. Goyle had already sent a bludger straight at him. It wasn’t the only one coming for him. The only way out was through. Biting down hard and calling upon his Gryffindor courage, Harry headed straight for the bludger — straight for Goyle, who looked at him in surprise. He took an agonizing hit in the shoulder, but barreled on; his hands outstretched. The others were in quick pursuit. Within seconds there was a sound of the buzzer and Harry landed on the ground, snitch in hand.

The crowd was on its feet. He took it from the noise level that very few actually ever caught the snitch in this version of Quidditch. He spotted Malfoy in the stands — a slow clap, an indifferent expression. After his shoulder was healed, Harry was brought forth before the other prince once more.

“Absolutely magnificent,” a wide-set, older man with shifty eyes was applauding. Malfoy had addressed him as Councillor Pettigrew, “What a display of sportsmanship. They don’t call this a bloodsport for nothing! A victory like that deserves a reward, don’t you agree your Highness?”

“A reward,” Malfoy seemed unamused.

“Perhaps something from my own household,” the man gestured for a young boy to come forward. He looked barely older than thirteen, “Theodore. The boy can be prepped and ready at the earliest convenience.”

 _Prepped._ The boy was a pet. There was no doubt that Councillor Pettigrew had intended to offer this boy’s services as Harry’s reward.

“I—I cannot accept,” Harry answered. To hell with laying low. Merlin, he was not about to rape a young boy for the amusement and cultural sensitivity of the Slytherin kingdom, “I won’t rape a child.” Malfoy turned and stared at him.

“I am not a child!” Theodore had protested, but still look terrified.

“Why not?” Malfoy questioned.

“ _Why not?!_ ” Harry exploded, “ _Why I won’t rape a child? Why I won’t hurt someone who cannot protect himself? WHY. NOT?_ ” in the heat of the moment, Harry had lapsed into parseltongue and his words had ceased to be words, but hisses. It was an ancient, archaic language that few used anymore. Only the upper echelons of nobility and members of royalty knew it. If Malfoy was surprised by it, he showed no reaction; but Harry knew he understood.

" _How very...Gyffindor of you_ ," Malfoy replied in the same language, “The slave will decline your offer. He exists only to serve me, not to be served by others,” the blond answered the others in English.

“My, my, my,” Pansy turned to him, “Aren’t you full of surprises. I wonder what else you’re hiding.”


	3. THREE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own anything. JK Rowling owns all Harry Potter-verse things and CS Pacat owns all Captive Prince-verse things. I've merely read both and decided they should collide. :)
> 
> I took some liberties with both worlds. And if you haven't read the CP series, you definitely should! I'll try to update tags as I go.
> 
> Please forgive any spelling errors. I'm notoriously a fast typer and this has not been proofed by anyone other than myself. xx
> 
> WARNING - torture is depicted in this chapter.

“The prince is waiting for you.” Summoned, once again. Harry had enjoyed a few Malfoy-less days before he found that he was once again required to submit to the whims of the blond prince’s personality. He followed the guards once more and groaned as he found himself inside a bath hall. He needed to start avoiding elaborate bath halls. They haven’t done him any good as of late. But there was no place for retreat. The doors had already closed behind him and were presumably locked and guarded. Stepping forward he could see that the entire bath hall was empty save for one person.

Draco Malfoy stood fully clothed and was leaning against a wall, “You said you got that scar in a fight. Did you fight at Beauxbatons?”

“Yes.”

“Did you kill?”

“Yes.”

Again, there was something that flickered in Malfoy’s eyes, but Harry couldn’t interpret it.

“Did you call me here to chat about bodily blemishes?” Dammit. He inwardly chastised himself for being far too snarky. Any other slave would have already knelt as a sign of submission.

“No. As a matter a fact, I called you here because the Regent has finally left us alone — gone on business, you see.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

The blond man seemed amused, “I haven’t even brought my wand,” he held up his hands in an open palm gesture, “I’m here to bathe," he ceased his laughter, "Come here.” It was reminiscent of a snake luring its prey — offering a false sense of security. Harry complied anyway.

“Take your clothes off,” Malfoy commanded. The Gryffindor had never been shy. Green eyes held grey as he loosened the ties of his slave garments and cast them to the floor. Only his glasses remained. “Now undress me.” Harry was unsure whether it was the steam from the baths or something else, but suddenly he felt the heat like a second skin. Malfoy’s garments were far more complicated, but somehow he managed. As soon as the Slytherin prince was separated from his clothes, Harry found himself staring. While his latest romantic conquests had been women, he was no stranger to a few dalliances with men. He appreciated beauty in all forms and Malfoy’s form certainly was beautiful.

“Attend me.” Harry reached for the pitcher of water to begin the wash. With Malfoy’s hair wet, the light blond shade darkened to almost a sandy color. It reminded Harry of Fleur. He remembered their last moments together; how soft her skin had been, how sweet she smelled. Malfoy smelled just as sweet — like apples. Harry shook his head. Now was hardly the time and an enemy kingdom’s prince was hardly the person. But it was already too late. Malfoy’s naked form, coupled with Harry’s memory of Fleur and the sensuality of the bath setting had already aroused the attentions of his cock. And Harry, lost in his own head, had let his hands wandered too far.

He was jolted out of his daydream by Malfoy’s cold, curt reply, “You presume too much.” The blond raised his hand in what would have been an efficient backhand, but Harry instinctively caught his wrist. Surprised, Malfoy attempted to pull it back — but Harry held on, their eyes locked.

“Guards!” Malfoy ordered and Harry released him. The doors opened and Harry felt hands pulling him up and away from Malfoy. “Take him to the dungeons and restrain him. You will wait for me.”

“Your Highness, the Regent has ordered that the slave not be—“

“Take him or you will take his place.”

 

* * *

 

Harry was bound to a wooden table, glasses askew when Malfoy finally entered. The guards leapt to their feet.

“Well?” the Slytherin prince snapped, “Begin.”

Harry had faced the _Crucio_ before, but it was never the same and he never felt prepared for it. The pain was maddening and it would stop just long enough for him to regain his senses before commencing again; so perfectly timed it was that just when he felt he could lose himself in the pain, he was given false reprieve only to have it start again. Malfoy, meanwhile, looked bored.

“Enough.”

Finally, it stopped. The blond rose and approached Harry, who was suddenly glad he was lying on a table. He didn’t think he’d be much for standing after that.

“I was at Beauxbatons,” Malfoy began, “They wouldn’t let me to the front, under my father’s orders. While he, and the rest of the army was out there fighting, I was kept in a tent. It wasn’t until they had brought his cold, lifeless body back that I fully understood who my father had been fighting against. ” The room around Harry began to spin.“Gryffindors,” the blond spat, “My father never trusted your kind and with good reason! One of them killed him with his own wand!”

 _It was a war_ , Harry wanted to scream. Everyone knew the risks. Not even kings were immune to death. But by some grace of Godric, he remained silent. 

Malfoy continued on, “I never got a chance to see his face. I’ve often dreamed of the day when we would finally meet. The things I would say, the things I would _do_. How I would _kill him_.”

“Who?” Harry choked out. He already knew the answer, but somehow — foolishly, the question left his lips.

“Harry Potter, the wizard who killed my father,” the prince finally pulled out his own wand then. He leaned in close to Harry, so close a whisper was audible, “I had been saving this for him. And since fate has so cruelly deprived me of the chance to face my father’s murderer, you’ll have to suffice.” The last thing Harry heard was _Sectumsempra._ And then there was nothing.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry awoke in the infirmary with several people peering down at him — most notably Tom, the Regent.

“He’s awake,” the Regent noted.

“He should not be agitated or moved,” the physician cautioned.

Tom dismissed him, “I don’t intend on either.”

Harry recognized one of the other men — Councillor Pettigrew who had been at the game.

“What happened to him?” the Councillor asked.

“Draco,” Tom stated, “This is what the prince thinks of our alliance with Gryffindor. This is how he treats Dudley’s gift even after I had cautioned against it. Twice he has defied me. This was intentional, a message to me. Draco has always been spoiled. After his mother’s illness and his father’s untimely death, I had taken him in as my own. But now I see that I should have raised him with a heavier hand.”

“You had grieved as well, my Lord,” Pettigrew offered. Although Tom held the throne in custody until the prince became of age, he was not by blood — royalty, and therefore was only addressed as “my Lord.”

“The late King Lucius had been your friend since childhood,” the Councillor continued.

“Alas, I have done him wrong by raising Draco with far too much leniency. He cannot be allowed to run amok like this — destroying the fragile peace we have worked so hard to procure.”

Pettigrew nodded, “The Council will support your decision, whatever it may be.”


	4. FOUR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own anything. JK Rowling owns all Harry Potter-verse things and CS Pacat owns all Captive Prince-verse things. I've merely read both and decided they should collide. :)
> 
> I took some liberties with both worlds. And if you haven't read the CP series, you definitely should! I'll try to update tags as I go.
> 
> Please forgive any spelling errors. I'm notoriously a fast typer and this has not been proofed by anyone other than myself. xx

Harry felt like shit, which in all honesty, was better than how he expected to feel after being slashed apart and left to bleed. The physicians had been able to heal him, but there definitely would be scarring, just more to collect.

Suddenly there was a pop and a house-elf in a raggity pillowcase appeared, “Sir! You have not eaten! The past few trays have returned full. Is Dobby’s cooking not to your liking?”

Harry rose from his bed and blinked at the elf. He hadn’t been really in a mood to eat. He did not think it would be read as a slight to the house-elf in front of him, “Er—I’m really sorry. Dobby? Is it? Just haven’t really felt hungry.”

Dobby climbed up onto his bed, “Perhaps sir is wanting something else to eat?”

“Maybe if you eat with me,” Harry offered to which caused the elf to well up in tears. Startled, Harry sought to rectify his mistake, “I’m sorry I didn’t eat the food! I really wasn’t hungry! It wasn’t because it was bad! I didn’t meant to offend you!”

“Sir, sir is talking to Dobby like — like Dobby is an equal,” Dobby was choking on his tears, “Sir is most kind!”

Harry cleared his throat and made room on his bed for the elf to sit. They ate in silence for a bit before Harry once again made the mistake of opening his mouth, “What happened to your ears?”

Dobby sighed, “Master was not pleased with Dobby’s last few meals also.”

“And who is your master?”

“Dobby resides in the service of his lordship, the Councillor Dolohov.”

“And he did this to you?!”

“He must!” the elf protested, “Dobby was a bad elf! He deserved to be punished. He had displeased his master with his bad cooking.”

“You don’t deserve to have him burn your ears!” Harry cried. The house-elves in Gryffindor were all free elves. They were compensated for their posts and they were treated like equals, if not better. Harry recalled growing up with a temperamental house-elf named Kreacher who was constantly rolling his eyes at King James. In contrast, the treatment of the house-elves in Slytherin left him horrified.

Once again Dobby had started sniffling, “Sir is far too kind to Dobby. Dobby is only a house-elf. Sir is a great wizard.”

“I’m only a slave.”

“No,” the elf’s eyes were wide, “No, house-elves have our own magic. We can sense the magic around us. Dobby senses the magic in you. You are a great wizard, a great man! Sir!”

Not knowing how to react, Harry reacted the only way he could — he wolfed down the rest of the tray and smiled at Dobby, who smiled back at him. “Sir has shown Dobby a great kindness. Dobby will not forget.”

“I will try to live up to your expectations, Dobby.”

The elf bowed deeply and disappeared, taking the empty tray with him. Determined to keep his word, Harry rapped shortly on his door, “I need to speak to the prince,” he called.

 

* * *

 

The day was nearly over when the door opened and Malfoy entered. Harry quickly fell to his knees. He watched as the pair of black dragon-hide boots edged closer.

“Something you needed? Or was our last encounter not enough?” one shoe was tapping impatiently.

“There is…something,” Harry had to choose his words carefully, “I will trade you something for it in return.”

“And what could you possibly have that I would want?”

“Complete obedience,” the shoe stopped tapping. Harry took it as a good sign to continue, “Whatever you want, I will do. I know there is a rift between you and Tom. Whatever political games you two are playing, you can use me however you want in it. Just please, one thing.”

Silence.

“I have reason to believe that the house-elves in Councillor Dolohov’s household are being mistreated. If you address this, I will do as you command.”

“House-elves,” Malfoy said flatly.

At that moment Harry dared to raise his eyes. The blond prince was staring down at him as one would view a complex puzzle. His eyes mirrored a stormy sea.

“In Gryffindor, house-elves are free. They are respected as ancient practitioners of magic and are very well compensated for their posts. They are not abused or enslaved.”

“I see, so the ways of Slytherin have offended your delicate nature.”

Harry could hold back no more, “ _It’s not about me! House-elves who are are magically bound love their families, they consider it the highest honor to serve. In doing so, they give up their liberty in exchange for their masters’ affection and protection — not to be scorned, berated, and attacked_.” Once again he had slipped into parseltongue. And alongside his little outburst, a nearby lamp exploded. Even without a wand, there was no doubt that Harry’s magic was something to be reckoned with.

The Slytherin regarded him curiously before answering, “ _Let me make this clear to you. You are a slave. Slaves do not bargain with princes_ , “ Harry hung his head in acquiesce. Malfoy continued in English, “With that being said — Padma Patil, princess of Ravenclaw will be here shortly to discuss trade negotiations with Slytherin. The princess might be persuaded to insist upon the gift of a few house-elves as a gesture of good faith for the deal.”

 

* * *

 

 

Upon the princess’s arrival the next day, Harry was washed, dressed, and escorted to the grand banquet hall that was held in her honor. Malfoy was standing outside the entrance.

“Leave,” he dismissed the guards, “You answer to no one but me or Tom,” he warned, “And be wary of that boy.”

“Who? Councillor Pettigrew’s pet? Theodore? He’s thirteen!”

“The boys in this court have long ago learned to manipulate the influence of the most powerful men of this kingdom. Theo may reside in Pettigrew’s household, but it’s the Regent’s bed he frequents.”

The banquet itself was long with plenty of fanfare. There were courses after courses and when Harry felt he could consume no more, there was yet another course of food. When Padma finally approached, Malfoy insisted they moved their celebration elsewhere — enticing her with the idea of a stroll. Offering her his arm, they began to walk — their processions and Harry trailing behind. Harry found himself in stride with Malfoy’s lead guard — a man who he had begrudgingly come to consider something of a “friend” — Blaise Zabini.

“So are you fucking him?” Blaise asked, head inclined towards the blond.

Harry nearly choked on his own tongue, “Absolutely not.”

The guard shrugged, “Was just curious. Rumors are he’s a virgin.”

“Are they true?”

Blaise shrugged again, “I’ve known him my whole life. My father was a member of his father’s guard. Never once seen the prince take a lover.”

Curious and curiouser.

“Tell me,” Malfoy addressed Padma, “To travel here, you must have crossed Gryffindor. Any news?” Harry felt a sharp pang in his heart. Malfoy’s question was deliberate.

“The kingdom is facing civil unrest. Dudley, while he’s been raised by the king like a legitimate son, was born out of wedlock. There are many who do not support his claim to the throne.” Harry knew the story well. His father had dallied with his Aunt Petunia, his mother’s older sister — resulting in an illegitimate child. A marriage had been arranged, but the ceremony could not be completed in time. Petunia was too far along by then. She had already gone in labor and subsequently died in childbirth. As a consolation to the House of Evans, Prince James carried out his obligation by marrying Petunia’s younger sister, Lily — Harry’s mother. Sadly, childbirth had taken her as well.

“Ah yes, there are also the rumors surrounding Harry Potter’s suspicious death.They say it was a tragic accident, but the body recovered was marred beyond recognition.”

“I saw Dudley as he grieved,” Padma supplied, “It was not a false sadness.”

Harry almost scoffed aloud. No doubt this “sadness” was a product of Fleur threatening to withhold her favors rather than Harry’s mysterious and sudden departure from this earth.

They had stopped and thus the procession stopped with them. Ensconced on the balcony, Malfoy and Padma looked quite the pair. Harry noted Padma’s proximity to the prince. She offered him slight touches, giggled at every other statement, and looked up at him from beneath her lashes. While the Slytherin prince did nothing to outrightly encourage it, he did not refuse her attentions. Harry shuddered. Padma was treading in dangerous waters; flirting with Malfoy was flirting with danger.


	5. FIVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own anything. JK Rowling owns all Harry Potter-verse things and CS Pacat owns all Captive Prince-verse things. I've merely read both and decided they should collide. :)
> 
> I took some liberties with both worlds. 
> 
> Please forgive any spelling errors. I'm notoriously a fast typer and this has not been proofed by anyone other than myself. xx
> 
> \-- 
> 
> WAH! This chapter was longer than I thought it would be.

Harry was greeted with a visit from Dobby the next day, who appeared alongside his dinner tray.

The elf bowed deeply, “Dobby knows what sir has done for Dobby. Dobby is grateful.”

“I do believe the prince did the heavy lifting on this one.”

“The Slytherin prince is most kind.” Harry rolled his eyes. Kind and Malfoy should not share the same sentence. Malfoy’s actions, while resulted in a kindly gesture, was not without price — Harry’s pride.

“Kind?”

“Oh yes. He found Dobby and inquired after his ears.” That didn’t sound like Malfoy at all, “Then he gave Dobby a salve for the burns.” Definitely not Malfoy.

“I’m glad you’re going to a better home, Dobby.”

Dobby smiled, “Princess Padma is a great mistress! A kind mistress. Dobby and the other elves leave with her tomorrow, “ the house-elf bobbed his head enthusiastically, “Dobby owes sir a great debt. He will repay it one day.”

Harry shook his head, “You don’t owe me anything.”

It was Dobby’s turn to chastise, “Dobby will not forget! Good-bye, good sir!”

For the first time in a long time, Harry felt good.

 

* * *

 

Naturally, that didn’t last long. He was roused from his night’s slumber by a group of strange guards. They were not dressed in the traditional Slytherin uniform. Harry was hauled to his feet.

“The prince has summoned you.”

Harry sighed. Was there a time when he wasn’t being summoned? But he had promised Malfoy his obedience in exchange for the elves’ new home, so he made haste in following the guards. Once again, Harry was shoved past a door with no explanation and no way to turn back. Begrudgingly, he continued down the winding corridor. It wasn’t long before he smelled the smoke. Bewildered, Harry turned the next corner and that was when he saw it.

The doors of Malfoy’s bedchamber were thrown wide open. From outside, Harry could see the fire raging on inside of it. Rushing forth, he was nearly knocked off his feet by a fiery dragon. _Fiendfyre_. This was no ordinary fire. It was fire cast by very dark magic. In the corner of the room, backed against a wall was Malfoy. His eyes were half shut and he was breathing hard, struggling to stand.

“Malfoy!” Harry called. The blond’s head snapped up, but his eyes seemed unable to focus. The fire was only growing wilder. Desperately, Harry scanned the room. Spotting Malfoy’s wand on the table, he made a daring leap for it.

With it secured in his hand, Harry screamed, “ _Accio_ broom,” and watched as Malfoy’s broom came flying out of the cabinet. As soon as it was in his hands, Harry realized this was his opportunity to escape. He turned back to the blond prince. He couldn’t just leave. Malfoy seemed to be worse for the wear. Up close it was obvious he had been drugged. The Slytherin had slipped to the floor and collapsed in a heap. With no time to waste, Harry hauled Malfoy onto the broomstick—seating the other man in front of him before mounting the broom himself. Blasting a hole through the roof, Harry shot straight up, out of the fire’s reach and into the night sky.

His reprieve was short-lived. The strange guards he met earlier were in hot pursuit. Harry only had two hands. He had one to keep Malfoy from falling off and the other to steer the broom. The spells were coming and he was dodging, but he had no idea how long he could outfly them. It seemed the cold air was enough to stir Malfoy, who reached for his wand in Harry’s pocket. For a split second grey eyes were boring into his and Harry was sure Malfoy might, in his drugged state, hex him and doom them both; but instead, the blond turned himself so he was facing Harry. Malfoy inched closer on the broom and pressed their fronts together. With one arm thrown around Harry’s neck for leverage, Malfoy began firing his own hexes at their pursuers.

“Keep flying,” the other prince whispered hotly in his ear before launching his final spell, “ _Avada Kedavra.”_ Harry flew on. With the immediate threat diminished, Malfoy — exhausted, crumbled against Harry.

 

* * *

 

Harry knew it looked bad. While it was Blaise who found them, Malfoy had lapsed back into unconsciousness. An entire wing of the castle had been demolished by fiendfyre and to everyone it appeared that Harry had taken off with the Slytherin heir.

“They’re going to think you kidnapped him!” Blaise insisted.

“But I didn’t!” Harry had all the reasons to panic, “There were these other guards. They took me out of my room and then there was all the fiendfyre and then they chased us after.”

“Well where are they now?”

“Malfoy killed them.”

Blaise rolled his eyes, “So the only person who can vouch for you is the prince, who is unconscious.”

It looked _really_ bad. Harry knew Blaise had no choice, but to keep him locked up until Malfoy awoke. He only prayed the other prince wouldn’t lie just to spite him. Harry knew this was the perfect opportunity for Malfoy to be rid of him. Accuse him of attempted assassination on the crown. No court would accept the word of a slave over their own prince. Harry would be sentenced to death. It would be that easy.

 

* * *

 

 

The hours seemed like days until Harry was brought before the Regent and the Council. Tom was seated on the throne with all five council members standing behind him. Malfoy, now conscious, was standing in the middle of the room—his back ramrod straight. The dead bodies of the disguised guards who had pursuing them were lying between them. Harry was shoved to the floor.

“Draco here has made quite the case for you,” Tom rubbed his chin, “Perhaps your _charms_ have impaired his judgment.”

“If you’re implying that I’ve been fucking the slave, I’d caution the Council to test your sanity.”

“Then what was he doing in your bedchamber? If there has been an attack on you — on the _crown_ — we must know.”

“And I have told you that this was not an assassination plot.”

“Is it not?” Tom made a beckoning motion and young Theo came forth, “Tell them what you saw, Theodore.”

“A group of Gryffindors — three men, they cast the fiendfyre. Those men,” Theo pointed at the bodies.

“Yes, but they did not cast it for _me_ ,” Malfoy was lying. Harry knew it, but why? “They were after the slave. Some petty Gryffindor squabble. You know how temperamental Gryffindors can be.”

A pause before Tom continued on, “Your continual defense of your slave is cause for concern. If you have somehow developed sympathy for our enemy—“

“It is not _I_ who have brought Gryffindor into my bed,” the blond said levelly. The weight of his words hung heavy in the room.

Tom appeared not to have noticed the effect, “If you do not bear any sympathies for Gryffindor, why do you continue to shirk your patrol duties at the border?”

It appeared they were at an impasse. Malfoy could accept his border duty and prove his point (and thereby save Harry’s life) or deny his duty, prove Tom’s point (and thereby condemn Harry to death).

The Slytherin prince lifted his head, “You’re right. I have not done the duty which was relegated to me as prince of this kingdom. There will be no questions about my loyalty. I will fly to the border immediately.”

A slow smile spread across Tom’s face, “Excellent. If there are no questions about loyalty, I and the Council will take your word that the slave was not involved in an assassination plot against you,” he motioned at the guards, “Release him.”

Without a wand jammed at his back, Harry was free to stand. As he rose, he watched Malfoy cross the room and kneel before Tom. The Regent placed a hand on his head, stroking his hair affectionately.

“Why must you be so stubborn in your defiance?” the hand slipped down to cup Malfoy’s jaw, “You were such a sweet boy.”

 

* * *

 

 

Harry exited the room first and waited until he saw Malfoy leave. He trailed after him.

“You lied. You lied to protect me.”

“You saved my life. You had no reason to. Malfoy’s do not like to be indebted.”

“I’m grateful.” They had reached Harry’s room and Malfoy led the way in. He seated himself on the nearest armchair. Legs crossed, fingers lightly tapping on the armrest, “Well, don’t get used to it. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“You killed those men. You speak of it as a means of defense, but you killed those men so they wouldn’t talk.”

The Slytherin arched one eyebrow, “And what would they have said if they had been alive to talk?”

“That Dudley had sent them, but that doesn’t make sense. Not now and not like this. Gryffindor is in the middle of civil unrest. He can’t afford a war. And those men were brazen and careless, most likely mercenaries.”

“Yes.”

Harry began to pace, “Dudley didn’t send those men. Whoever did wanted to send a message and blame Gryffindor. Whoever did it, wanted war.”

“Indeed. It is quite genius. Terrible in execution, but genius in design.”

Harry raced back to the chair, “You need to tell Tom!”

“That would not be a good idea.”

“Why?”

“You’ve been doing so well, don’t be daft now.”

Harry blinked at him in confusion and Malfoy sighed, “Because the man who hired those mercenaries is the man who is sitting on my throne.”


	6. SIX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own anything. JK Rowling owns all Harry Potter-verse things and CS Pacat owns all Captive Prince-verse things. I've merely read both and decided they should collide. :)
> 
> Please forgive any spelling errors. I'm notoriously a fast typer and this has not been proofed by anyone other than myself. xx

“You can’t go,” Harry insisted, “It’s a trap. Tom’s men will attack you as soon as we’re out of the capitol.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, “Clearly.”

“You knew it was a trap, yet you willingly will walk into it — all because Malfoy’s always settle their debts?” Now it was Harry’s turn to roll his eyes, “Take me with you.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You’re riding into Gryffindor territory. I know the land better than any of your men. And you need someone you can trust.”

“ _Do I_?” the question was heavy, delivered in parseltongue.

“ _There’s more than just your life hanging in the balance. The fate of both of our kingdoms do_.”

Malfoy said nothing to that. Instead, he simply rose and left, dismissing the conversation with his absence.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry could not sleep all night. There was some nefarious plot to incite war amongst the two kingdoms. Dudley had no idea. Tom was toying with him and it would cost their people their lives. It was dawn when he heard a sharp knock at his door. It was a messenger. Malfoy had summoned him to courtyard.

Outside, Harry was greeted by Blaise who was shaking his head, “You must be the fuck of a century.”

“I’m not—“ Harry started to say, but quickly closed his mouth when Malfoy approached. Blaise gave his prince a curt nod before retreating.

The blond handed Harry a wooden box. “My wand,” Harry gasped upon opening it.

“It was given to me alongside you. I gathered Dudley intended for me to use it to control you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“While it pains me to admit it, I do not possess the kind of power required to tame another wizard’s wand,” there was something pointed in his look.

“Thank you,” Harry said as he lifted it from the box. Eleven inches, holly, a phoenix feather core — it felt like a piece of home. Harry’s quaint reunion with his wand was cut short by the emergence of Pansy.

“Draco,” she gave the Slytherin prince a solemn look, “You cannot go.”

“That appears to be the general consensus,” the blond sounded amused, “Unfortunately I must.”

“Stay _here_. There are people who support you here. Surely there’s something—“

“He has the capitol and he has the Council. A handful of _people_ are hardly enough to turn the tides.”

Pansy sighed, “Think beyond the courtiers Draco. The people, _your_ people love you as they have loved your father. They will stand for you.”

“You mean die for me, for that is what I would be asking them. Pansy, I will not have anyone dying for me.” Harry was taken back. It was rather — selfless, particularly for a Slytherin.

Pansy clutched her hands over her heart, “I see I cannot dissuade you. Promise me you’ll write! I need to know you’re alive.”

And in an uncharacteristically gentle fashion, Malfoy nodded before planting a kiss on her forehead. Something in Harry’s stomach turned. He fought down the strange feeling. Suddenly the air felt crowded and Harry found himself at Blaise’s side.

 

* * *

 

 

“I never did thank you for the other night,” Harry began, “If anyone else other than you had found us — I’m not sure I would be here.”

“Just following orders,” Blaise gave him a stern look, “I do hope the Regent was wrong, that you haven’t confunded the prince with your dick.”

“For the last and final time, I am _not_ fucking him.”

“Fine, he’s fucking you then.”

Harry was just about to hex Blaise for some peace and quiet when he noticed Goyle.

“What’s he doing here?”

“He’s Captain of the Guard.”

“ _What?_ ”

“No one’s first choice I know, but the Regent mandated it. Slimy bastard, but someone’s gotta do the his dirty work. Speaking of dirty work,” Blaise gestured ahead of them.

Pansy had left, replaced by Theodore. Suspicious, Harry returned to Malfoy’s side in time to catch the tail end of their conversation.

“You look more yourself without the get-up,” Malfoy was smiling. It was daunting. Like staring into the sun. 

Theo scowled, but it was the truth. Without the jewels and the colorful silks, he looked his age. A pretty boy standing on the cusp of adolescence. It was the kind of beauty that could make your heart break — if it wasn’t constantly ruined by the foul things he would say. Harry laughed inwardly; it was something Theo had in common with Malfoy.

“I am not here for your compliments,” Theo announced, “You lied to me. You’re leaving.” His voice sounded like it might break. Whether it was from the onset of puberty or something more, it was hard to discern.

“I’ll be back.”

Theo sneered, “Do you really think so?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! This was kind of short and not much happened, but I needed something to transition to their time on the road. And you know, to give Harry back his wand and such. xx


	7. SEVEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own anything. JK Rowling owns all Harry Potter-verse things and CS Pacat owns all Captive Prince-verse things. I've merely read both and decided they should collide. :)
> 
> Please forgive any spelling errors. I'm notoriously a fast typer and this has not been proofed by anyone other than myself. xx
> 
> Some character introductions in this chapter (:

“The physician needs to see you,” one of the men told Harry. Harry entered the small tent that had been set up as a physicians lab. To his surprise, it was the same man who had patched him up.

“You,” Harry said, “I’m sorry I don’t think I caught your name.”

“You caught it. You simply don’t remember seeing as the last time we met, it was under rather grave circumstances. How are you healing?”

“Fine.”

“Forgive me if I won’t take your word for it and would rather examine you.”

“Still don’t have your name,” Harry stated as he lifted his shirt.

“Severus Snape.”

Harry nodded, “Thank you, er, for saving my life.”

“Hippocratic oath. And I’m afraid that particular incident was partially my fault.”

“How?”

“I taught a young prince that particular spell,” Snape’s voice seemed tired, “But it had been intended for use against someone else.”

Harry knew who that someone else was. Malfoy hadn’t used it on the wrong person.

“Is this your first time on the road with the troops?”

“No, I was the king’s personal physician. I went where he went. I was with him in the end.”

“If you were the king’s physician, wouldn’t you be serving the Regent now?”

Snape gave him a dry look, “I do not serve the occupier of the throne. I serve the Malfoy line,” he procured a potion bottle from his collection, “Apply every night and you should have a full recovery.” With that, Harry was dismissed.

 

* * *

 

 

Outside, he surveyed the scene. They seemed bound for failure. The Regent had deployed some of his own men alongside Malfoy’s and the former far outnumbered the latter. And the latter was in a rather abysmal state. These men were not trained soldiers. They were barely men. Some of them were fresh out of school. Most had never even seen a fight. He was shaken from his thoughts by a large crowd forming across the field. Racing over, Harry spotted the cause of the spectacle. A young blond courtier had his wand out against a group of the Regent’s men.

“You take that back!” the courtier demanded.

“Are you going to make us?” one of the older men taunted.

“Step down lad. You’re just going to get hurt,” another called.

“What’s going on here?!” Harry demanded. He had his own wand out. The crowd parted to make way for him.

“Just having a bit ‘ol fun,” it was one of the Regent’s men, “Smith here has no sense of humor.”

Harry turned towards the courtier, “What’s your name?”

“Zacharias,” he answered, “And they insulted the prince!” Harry took a look at him. He was fairly young. Probably no more than a year apart from Malfoy. There was a rip in his shirt, most likely from taking a hit. It was obvious from his manner of dress that he was used to lavish courts and not rough terrains. His cuticles immaculate, his hands aristocratic — Harry was ready to believe this boy had never been in a duel to save his life. He turned towards the other three. They were eyeing him warily and he understood why. He was not only a Gryffindor — an outsider, but as the prince’s slave, he was an extension of the crown himself. It was an unpredictable threat.

Turning back to Smith, Harry said, “It’s generally not a good idea to instigate a fight when you’re outnumbered.”

The blond spat in front of him, “I’m not afraid and I don’t have to listen to you. I know who you are. You’re the Gryffindor who’s so far up the prince’s arse, you forget the light of day.”

Harry’s grip on his wand tightened reactively, but he made no moves to use it, “Why don’t you go see Snape? He’ll give you something for that cut.” The courtier scowled, but relented — heading towards Snape’s tent.

“Back to your posts!” roared a voice. It was Blaise who had just arrived. As the crowd began clearing, he approached Harry, “The prince is waiting for you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Blaise escorted him towards the tent he shared with Malfoy. As the prince’s tent, it was far more decadent and comfortable than the men’s; but the trade-off was sleeping in a snake’s den. You may sleep well, but you never know if you’re going to wake up. Blaise knew the routine by now and immediately made himself scarce the moment he dropped Harry off. Malfoy was seated at the table. His demeanor languid, his posture relaxed. He gestured to the open seat on the other side. Harry took it.

“What happened out there?”

“Young courtier got himself injured defending your honor.”

“I was under the impression you believe I don’t have any honor worth defending.” The words were cold, delivered calmly.

“Are the rumors true then? You’re really made of ice.”

Malfoy stared at him, grey eyes steely, “Care to cut me and see?” He stood up from his chair and instinctively, Harry did too. The blond rounded the table and closed in on Harry, who had pulled out his wand. Quick as lightning, Malfoy’s hand enclosed around his wrist. Instead of physically disarming him, Malfoy brought Harry’s hand up and pointed the wand’s end at his own heart.

“You know we’re alone. You saw Blaise leave,” the blond insisted, “Go on then.”

“Did you give me my wand just to see if I’d use it on you?”

“I gave you your wand because I know you won’t,” there was an irritating confidence in his voice, “At least not yet. When this is all over, I know you’ll seek your own revenge for the events that have transpired since you were brought to Slytherin. When that day comes, I’ll take my chances. But your best chance to get to the border is still with me.”

“You’re either underestimating your treatment of me or you’re underestimating me.”

“Neither,” Malfoy answered, “I know what it means to hate someone with everything you’re made of. I know what it feels like to want someone dead more than anything else. I know what it’s like to see yourself killing that man every night in your dreams. I know it all and I know what it’s like to have to wait for it,” he released his grip.


	8. EIGHT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own anything. JK Rowling owns all Harry Potter-verse things and CS Pacat owns all Captive Prince-verse things. I've merely read both and decided they should collide. :)
> 
> Please forgive any spelling errors. I'm notoriously a fast typer and this has not been proofed by anyone other than myself. xx

It had been a long few weeks on the road. They would fly for a few days and set up camp at night. Spend a few days training and then pack their things up to continue flying. Despite sharing a tent with Malfoy, Harry never saw him unless he wanted to be seen. The Slytherin prince was always up before him and was still awake long after Harry had tumbled into the beguiling arms of slumber. Every night without fail, Malfoy would scribble away on his parchment then dispatch it to his owl with one command: Pansy.

Harry wasn’t sure what to make of it. While it was true that no one had ever seen Malfoy take a lover to his bed, it didn’t mean there wasn’t someone in his heart. He shrugged and dismissed the thought. It was not his business who Malfoy loved — if Malfoy was even capable of love.

On his third week on the road, the trouble that had been brewing — erupted. First, he had been challenged to a round of “friendly dueling” by one of the Regent’s men. Harry apparently was foolish enough to believe it was just that. However, the man had no intention of any kind of friendliness and Harry was forced to subdue and disarm him. He was standing over the other man, holding his wand when Malfoy emerged from the tent with a strange look on his face.

“That seems to be your specialty — disarming people and using their wands,” the blond remarked.

Harry flushed and tossed the wand back, “Was only defending myself.”

“I know,” Malfoy said genuinely. And then, “You’re rather adept at dueling. Better than me.”

“Do you want to practice? I promise to keep it friendly.” Perhaps it was the adrenaline high he had from the fight; but Merlin, he winked. Harry bloody winked. Then he visually sized the prince up. Malfoy’s eyes widened a bit, then narrowed. It was his turn to flush then. The pink tinted his cheeks lightly and he pressed his lips firmly together and headed back to the tent. It was such a un-Malfoy like reaction that Harry made a mental note to wink more often.

The second thing that happened was the result of Goyle running wild. The Regent’s choice for Captain was a poor one. If it was Tom’s intention to undermine the prince (which it clearly was), then it was a spectacular one. Goyle frequently shirked his duties — disappearing to Godric knows where for long hours at a time, returning smelling like booze and cheap thrills. It was a bad example for the men and a slap in the face to Malfoy’s authority. Meanwhile, Malfoy himself seemed unperturbed. Or so Harry thought.

On a particular morning, Malfoy was standing in front of the men — having summoned Goyle — who, of course, was nowhere to be found. Malfoy continued to wait. He waited and waited and waited until finally, that hulk of a man appeared.

“Am I keeping you from something?” the prince asked.

“No, I’m done,” Goyle answered, “You want something?”

“Yes, I wanted you here — hours ago.”

“I was busy.”

“Indeed, so you kept your prince waiting.”

“Sod off.” There was a gasp in the crowd. Goyle clearly believed the authority instilled in him by the Regent far surpassed any punishment Malfoy could dole out.

“Your wit is astounding. Perhaps your wand will be sharper,” Malfoy had drawn his. Goyle flippantly reached for his. Harry was in a panic. Malfoy was a pampered palace prince. He was not the battle-hardened commander his father was. Harry’s hand closed around his own wand, ready to intervene. It was Goyle who cast the first hex, which Malfoy easily dodged and returned in kind. Harry waited with baited breath as spell after spell was fired. At this point, Goyle was panting. The prince remained unmarked and unruffled. Harry understood that for Goyle this was frustrating. He was a seasoned fighter up against a spoiled brat. He should not be losing. But he was. And soon Malfoy had him disarmed, Goyle’s wand in his hands, and Goyle beneath his boot.

“I wonder if he’s going to kill him,” Blaise muttered. _No_ , Harry shook his head. _Malfoy was going to break him_.

Pushing his boot into Goyle’s chest, Malfoy snapped the Captain’s wand from above him and dropped the two halves on the ground. Stepping back, he addressed the Regent’s men, “Dispose of him and his things somewhere. Far. I don’t care where,” and with a sweep of his coat, he was back inside his tent. Not another man stepped out of line after that.

The third thing that happened was the appearance of a lone post owl. Whatever was in that letter had Malfoy incredibly agitated. He paced the tent in a huff before, “Tell Blaise I will rejoin the camp tomorrow. I have something to attend to in town.”

Harry stood up, “You can’t go alone! If you’re separated from your men, you’re opening yourself up to an ambush. Can’t you send someone else?”

“No.”

“Then take me.”

Malfoy studied him for a quick minute before nodding, “Fine. Tell Blaise and then we will leave.”

When Harry returned to the tent after disclosing their plans to Blaise, Malfoy tossed a package of clothing at him and ordered him to change. The clothes were extravagant. They were fit for a prince. Upon donning his new outfit, he caught the blond surveying him closely.

“You look—“ the prince began, but shook his head, “Come. We need to leave.”

“How are we supposed to go to town without you being recognized?”

“Why do you think Severus Snape is here? Just to lick your wounds?” He neglected to say, _the wounds that I inflicted_. Harry followed Malfoy into Snape’s tent where the physician presented them with a bottle of modified Polyjuice.

“Instead of completely altering your physical appearance, it will simply modify it,” Snape instructed them, “Lasts longer as well.”

Malfoy uncorked his bottle, raised it in a toast gesture, and downed it. He watched as Malfoy’s face rounded out. His blond hair darkening to a mousy brown. His eyes turned to blue. He still looked vaguely like himself, just more like a distant cousin. Malfoy held his arm out to Harry, who took it. Together they disapparated.

 

 


	9. NINE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own anything. JK Rowling owns all Harry Potter-verse things and CS Pacat owns all Captive Prince-verse things. I've merely read both and decided they should collide. :)
> 
> Please forgive any spelling errors. I'm notoriously a fast typer and this has not been proofed by anyone other than myself. xx

They were being followed. Malfoy tossed a long look over his shoulder and huffed.

“While you were concerned with _me_ being recognized, you didn’t seem concerned with yourself being recognized.” Where the prince’s slave goes, surely the prince himself wouldn’t be too far off, “Come on!” The blond broke into a run and Harry followed. There was a scuffling of feet after that. They took a quick turn, darted left, and another quick turn right. However try as they might, the footsteps still remained close behind.

The Slytherin was irritated, “Is there no end to these blasted streets?”

“Wait! We’re approaching Knockturn Alley!” Harry pointed out. Nightfall was approaching. Knockturn Alley in the day was already dodgy enough. By nightfall it would be outright dangerous.

Malfoy brightened, “An excellent place to hide.”

“No, it’s not—“ Harry started, but was forced to follow the other in stride.

“In here!” Malfoy pushed him past a large iron gate and into a dark side street. Before Harry could stop him, the blond had swung open one of the doors and ushered them inside. They remained pressed to the door’s interiors — waiting for the men to past.

“I saw them go in here!” one voice called.

“That’s a brothel you imbecile!” the other one answered, “What the hell would the prince be doing in a brothel?! I’d wager he barely touches himself, you think he’s paying some whore to touch him?”

 _A brothel_ , Harry mouthed and was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization. He was indeed in the company of the very chaste, very proper Prince of Slytherin — in a brothel. Malfoy, meanwhile, was cramming into him — trying to eavesdrop, oblivious to Harry’s dilemma.

“Stop _pushing_ ,” Harry whispered, but was silenced from any further protests by the other prince pressing his fingers to Harry’s lips. Malfoy’s fingers were soft and decidedly warm against Harry’s lips. He resisted the urge to press his mouth further again the fingers. The blond still had his ear pressed to the door. He hadn’t removed his fingers; they were absent-mindedly grazing Harry’s lips. It was driving the latter mad. The men were still outside.

“You, boy! We’re looking for two men. One is the Slytherin prince in disguise. The other one is his slave. Glasses, hair like a hornet’s nest.”

A younger voice called, “Haven’t seen ‘em, mister. Spare a few sickles? I’d show you a good time.”

“Off with you boy!” And the sounds of footsteps faded. Malfoy was trembling with laughter.

“It’s not funny!” Harry roared.

“Oh, but I disagree,” the blond removed his hand from Harry’s lips and made like it was stuck in Harry’s hair. Then doubled over with laughter, “A hornet’s nest!” he was practically giddy. Harry was not amused.

“May I help you gentlemen?” a female voice came.

The laughter ceased. “Yes, you may,” Malfoy threw her a small pouch. The woman opened it to pour out a handful of galleons. Satisfied, she beckoned them to follow. The woman, who had introduced herself as Madam Rosmerta, welcomed them to The Three Broomsticks — Knockturn Alley’s finest “after hours entertainment.”

 

* * *

 

 

In the expansive room in which they were received, Malfoy threw himself upon one of the expensive recliners. Harry took one of the solo chairs next to him.

“Firewhisky? Treacle tart?”

The blond waved away the idea.

“Something else then,” she replied with a smirk, “After all, you did come _here_. Girls!”

Immediately the doors in front of them opened and a parade of beautiful young women entered. They stood in a row in front of their madam. Harry watched as Malfoy carefully perused each of the women before settling on the second to last one.

“Her,” Malfoy pointed. She was pretty in a very obvious way. She had short blond hair, big blue eyes, and a Roman nose. She was almost a mirror image to Fleur; and, Harry realized, in tricky lighting — she could pass as a Malfoy. Upon being chosen, the girl started to move towards Malfoy before he held up his hand, “No. _Him_.” She turned and made towards Harry — who suddenly found himself with a lapful.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Harry insisted.

“Why not? Isn’t this your area of expertise? Isn’t Gryffindor bursting with harems?” It was not a lie, but these circumstances — it wasn’t ideal. While Harry was listening to Malfoy, she had already undone his coat and was now kneeling on the floor — her deft fingers undoing his trousers. But Harry couldn’t look at her. He was looking at the Slytherin.

“Let’s see what you’re made of,” the blond prince was smirking. Harry was already sailing at half-mast during the entire conversation, but that smirk — it sent him full steam ahead. Spurned on by Harry’s hard-on, his paid-for companion set to work — putting her mouth on him.

“No. You’re going too fast,” the other prince interjected, “Don’t play all your cards at once, love. Go slow. Kiss it first. There you go. Now take him in your mouth. Softly, little touches of the tongue.” Meanwhile his eyes never once left Harry’s. It was torture. Between her mouth and Malfoy’s words, Harry was quite sure he was going to implode.

“Now faster. Use your hands. More spit. Hollow your mouth. Now take him all the way down.” She complied and Harry bucked up. His fingers were gripping the edge of his seat. He looked down and all he could see was blonde hair. He looked over and all he could see was Malfoy.

“I—I’m going to—“

“Finish him.” Harry was finished. Boneless, he sank against the chair. The girl looked up and wiped her mouth. Malfoy tipped her a coin. He gave a few more to Madam Rosmerta, “I want your best room and I do not want to be disturbed.” She nodded knowingly and one of the other girls led the way. Harry followed soon after.

 

* * *

 

 

The room had only one bed. Harry took a pillow and collapsed on the floor.

“What are you doing?”

“Sleeping.”

“On the floor.”

“Yes.”

“There is a bed here.”

“You are in it.”

“It’s a rather large bed.” _It must be a trick_ , Harry thought. Malfoy did not just offer him half of the bed. But as he looked up, Malfoy had already discarded his coat, tie, and vest. Left in a white collar shirt — sleeves rolled up and his trousers, he seemed more like a boy Harry might have gone to school with rather than the prince who was his captor. _Fuck it._ Harry stood up and removed the outer layers of his clothes as well. He could use a good night’s rest. He slipped under the covers on one side of the bed as Malfoy slipped into the other.

“Tell me,” the blond began, “What did you really do to make an enemy out of Dudley?” _Other than being born the legitimate son_ , Harry wondered.

He told a half truth, “There was a woman.”

“Fleur. Really? You fell in love with Dudley’s mistress.”

“I didn’t know she was his mistress! She was beautiful, smart, talented, witty. But she was from lower-ranked noble family. She barely had a title. She grew wanting more, wanting everything. She wanted to be queen. It wasn’t something I could give her.”

“I wouldn’t have pegged that as your type.”

“My type?”

“Beautiful, but ruthless.”

“She—I didn’t know that about her.”

“Were you so blinded by love?”

 _No, it was not love_ , Harry realized that now. _Lust_. She had preyed on his desires and on Dudley’s insecurities. She was making a fool out of them both.

“Can I ask you a question?” Harry inquired.

“I suppose it’s fair.”

“Half your court and almost all of your men think you’re a virgin.”

“Was there a question in that?”

“Are you?”

“No.”

“Hm,” Harry mumbled, “I had thought that maybe you preferred the company of women, so no man ever stood a chance.”

“Women?” Malfoy looked surprised, “I—No.”

“Oh,” Harry replied sheepishly, “I saw you with Padma and…Pansy.”

“The former — an exercise in diplomacy. The latter —“ the other prince sighed, “Pansy’s the closest person to me. Our mothers were friends. We were raised together as children.”

A silence filled their space before, “Do you know why Fleur chose Dudley?”

“Because she wanted to be queen. Because he was a prince and—“

“No. She would still have chosen him even if you were prince, even if you and Dudley shared the same bloodline. Do you know why?”

Harry shook his head, confused.

“Because a woman like that — a woman so Machiavellian in her intent, so careful in her execution, so ruthless in her ambition — will always chose the weaker man, the man she could control.”

Harry turned in the bed. Malfoy turned to face him.

“You haven’t even met Dudley! How do you know he's the weaker man?” Harry exclaimed. And as the last hour of the Polyjuice potion was up, Malfoy’s appearance began to change. The edges of his face sharpened. His blue eyes turned back into a steely grey. His hair lightened until it was its original icy blond. He ran a hand through it and sighed again, “No I haven't, but I’ve met you.”


	10. TEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own anything. JK Rowling owns all Harry Potter-verse things and CS Pacat owns all Captive Prince-verse things. I've merely read both and decided they should collide. :)
> 
> Please forgive any spelling errors. I'm notoriously a fast typer and this has not been proofed by anyone other than myself. xx

Harry awoke to someone shaking him. It was Malfoy. It was not quite dawn.

“My contact is here,” Malfoy told him, “I need the room,” and then pointed at the balcony. Sluggishly, Harry dressed and climbed out of the window — giving the other prince room and time for whatever political espionage he had planned. From the balcony, he climbed down to the ground; but not before almost landing on the old man who was walking below

“Merlin!” the old man called, “Youth are falling out of the sky!”

“Sorry! Didn’t mean to hit you. Miscalculated the jump.”

The old man chuckled and stroke his beard. He introduced himself as Albus Dumbledore — world-renown sweets peddler, “The young ladies of this establishment are some of my best customers. No one turns down a chocolate frog. Fancy one?”

Harry took it gleefully. It had been awhile since he’s had anything but the dry bread they had packed for the road. Harry gave the Dumbledore a fake name with a fake backstory. He spent a good thirty minutes chatting with the old man when Malfoy appeared. Upon the sight of the blond, Dumbledore bowed deeply, “Your Highness!” Remaining bowed, he reassured them, “Don’t worry! I won’t tell anyone I saw you leaving the Three Broomsticks. Discretion is my middle name.”

“Right,” the blond noted, “Do you have any spare brooms?”

 

* * *

 

 

As it turns out, Dumbledore only had one. They argued over who rode in the front. Malfoy argued that he was taller and the prince. Harry reasoned that he was the better flyer. In the end, reason won over pride and it was Harry in front with the Slytherin strapped to his back.

“Where are we going?” Harry asked.

“Back to the camp.”

“Why can’t we apparate back?”

“Because Blaise would have moved it by now to throw off Tom’s men. We can’t apparate to it if we don’t know where it is.”

“Then how are we flying to it?”

“Well, it’s in that general direction,” Malfoy pointed, “We should have a better understanding of the terrain once we’re in the air. Now make haste! Or do you move the way you think? Slowly.”

Harry was making good headway in “that general direction” when he realized where Malfoy’s directions had led them.

“That’s the Forbidden Forest!”

“Yes, cutting through here is the fastest way to go back to where we were.”

“No!” Harry began. He had had enough of this foolishness. Last night the blond had led him to a brothel in Knockturn Alley. This morning, he was being dragged to the Forbidden Forest. Who knows what else awaited them there? Absolutely not. “Do you even _know_ what’s in the Forbidden Forest?”

“Yes, yes. Centaur this. Giant spiders that. We’re flying above the forest, there’s no need to panic—“

“ _Incendio_ ,” a voice called and suddenly their broom was on fire. Harry was glad he won the argument over who rode in the front because there weren’t many fliers who could make the dive he was about to pull. Dropping dramatically and ignoring Malfoy’s cursing, he plummeted them straight to the ground. The broom was burning faster from the acceleration. Almost. _Almost_ , Harry dropped to the floor of the Forbidden Forest. The other prince disembarked behind him. Immediately a slew of spells were being fired at them. It was an ambush. Harry hit the ground and heard the blond fall after him.

 

* * *

 

 

“ _Incarcerous._ ” It was the same voice and Harry found himself gagged and bound. This was beginning to feel too familiar. A group of men were standing above them. They bore Tom’s sigil. The leader walked over to Malfoy, who was being dragged up to his knees.

“Pretty thing aren’t you?” the man remarked — eyeing the blond prince, “The Regent told me to kill you, but I don’t see why we couldn’t have a little fun before that,” he ran his hand down Malfoy’s front. It was _unacceptable_. Harry was filled with an unexplainable rage. His magic responded to it. The grass around them caught fire. The men yelped. Their broken concentration allowed Harry enough time to wiggle for his wand. Freeing himself and Malfoy, they turned to face the men; who by then had stamped out the fire and surrounded them. A fight ensued. Harry had dispensed with two of them. Looking over his shoulder he saw one of the men aiming a curse at Malfoy. Harry began to run, but during the fight they had moved too far away from each other. He wasn’t going to reach him in time. Malfoy’s back was turned. He was dueling another man.

“ _Protego_ ,” it was a female voice. A shield appeared in front of Malfoy who looked just as surprised as Harry. A bushy-haired woman with a Phoenix mask was standing in front of the prince.

“ _Confringo,_ ” another voice called and an orange explosion knocked off the man Malfoy was dueling. A long-haired blonde appeared — also in a Phoenix mask.

“ _Impedimenta!_ ” the remaining man shouted. The blonde woman dodged it, “ _Stupefy._ ” He was down. Harry raced over to Malfoy. He ran his hands across the blond, “Are you all right?” Malfoy nodded. His eyes were still on the two masked women.

“You’re coming with us,” it was the bushy-haired one. She raised her wand, “ _Obscuro._ ” Then everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guesses as to who the two women are? ;)


	11. ELEVEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own anything. JK Rowling owns all Harry Potter-verse things and CS Pacat owns all Captive Prince-verse things. I've merely read both and decided they should collide. :)
> 
> Please forgive any spelling errors. I'm notoriously a fast typer and this has not been proofed by anyone other than myself. xx
> 
> \-- 
> 
> In this world, amortentia is not a love potion. It's basically the equivalent of viagra, but magical.
> 
> Also, the only thing I listened to while writing this chapter was RUN THE WORLD (GIRLS) - BEYONCE. I think it showed. :X

When Harry was young, his father had told him a story — an urban legend of sorts that he had always attributed as myth. It was the story of a clan of women who lived in the Forbidden Forest. They bore no allegiances, needed no men, and produced some of the best trained fighters in the entire four kingdoms. Their queen was a noblewoman; jilted by an unfaithful husband, she took all their daughters and fled. Never to be seen again. Together they formed the first generation of what was known as The Order of the Phoenix. When Harry could see again, it was clear The Order was no urban myth.

 

* * *

 

 

He was on his knees inside an elaborate hut. Malfoy had been allowed to stand. In front of them, perched on a throne of human skulls, was an old woman. Her outer cloak bore the red and gold feathers of a phoenix. Her crown was made of golden spikes. She wielded an impressive staff, which she pounded on the floor for silence. Behind her, the banner of the phoenix was hoisted.

“Prince Draco Malfoy of Slytherin,” the old woman addressed him, “Why were you trespassing in the Forbidden Forest?”

Malfoy exerted himself with a short bow, “We were not trespassing. We were ambushed. Inadvertently, it happened to have occurred in your realm.”

The old woman ran a hand down her staff idly, “Do you know who I am?”

“If rumors are to be believed, you were once Lady Minerva McGonagall. Now you’re the Empress of The Order.”

The old woman chuckled, “No one has called me that in a long time. You know why my girls and I stand under the sigil of the phoenix? The phoenix is a symbol of rebirth. Lady Minerva McGonagall is dead. Now there is only The Empress. And The Empress does not take kindly to trespassers,” she waved a graceful hand at the skulls beneath her.

“Then why are we alive?” Harry asked. If looks could kill, the one Malfoy shot him was an _Avada Kedavra_ to the heart. Immediately all the women drew their wands. A young woman with plaited hair stepped forward and addressed their leader, “Empress, may I have the honor of dueling this trespasser who has spoken out of turn?”

The old queen waved her away, “It’s all right Lavender. No need for that…for the time being.” Lavender stepped back in line, “You are alive because one of you is a Dominant Male.”

“I—uh— _what_?” Harry asked.

“I had thought it might be him because he’s the prince, but I can feel your magic now. What the girls saw in the forest — that was you.”

“I’m sorry? _What_?” Harry was still confused.

“How do you think we repopulate?” it was the long-haired blonde who had come to their rescue. She giggled.

“Luna is correct. While by our laws, only females are allowed to call this place their ‘home’ — it does present a bit of problem in retaining our numbers.”

Malfoy, ever the opportunist, cut in, “You want my slave to fornicate with your girls.”

“Indeed.”

Harry’s jaw dropped, “What if I don’t comply?”

“There is another way out alive. Trial by combat. You can fuck my girls or you can fight them.”

“He’ll fuck them,” the blond prince answered coolly.

The old queen smiled, “Thought you’d see it my way,” she beckoned at Malfoy, “Come. You and I can discuss what I’ve missed in the outside world while your slave avails himself.”

Harry rose and approached Malfoy, “Is this an order?”

“You’ve seen two of them in the forest. Did you want to fight _all_ of them?” the Slytherin gestured to the entire crowd of women in Phoenix masks. Harry did not. “Or do you require instructions again?” There was a glint in those grey eyes. _No thank you_ , Harry James Potter did not need instructions on how to fuck. He was led away by the bushy-haired girl as Malfoy was being received by the queen.

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m Hermione,” the bushy-haired girl introduced herself.

“So, er, are we just going to get to it?” Harry wondered.

“No, not me. I’m not at the prime moment in my cycle,” she led him to a different hut. It looked cozy. There was a fire outside and a makeshift bed of furs on the ground. Hermione pressed a small bottle into his hand, “Amortentia,” she explained, “It will keep you…going. Your first partner will be here soon.” With that, she was gone. Harry didn’t have to wait long before the flap of the hut opened again and a lanky brunette entered. She removed the Phoenix mask and disrobed.

“Cho,” she offered. Harry didn’t bother with introductions, he kissed her. She tasted like candy and summer rain. He kissed her again. And again. Brought his hands up to cup her breasts — needling a nipple with the pad of his thumb. She moaned into his mouth. His other hand dipped lower, to the space between her legs. He slipped a finger in, using another to circle the one spot he knew would make her pliant in his hands. It wasn’t long before she was dripping and he positioned himself at her entrance. When he finally came, he was surprised to find himself still hard. It must be the potion. Cho kissed him goodbye and left. He was still panting from their excursion when the flap opened again.

“Lavender,” he had recognized her from before.

“Be quiet,” she ordered. She didn’t even removed her outer clothing — merely pushed him back down on the furs, lifted her skirt, and eased herself down on him. It was quick and perfunctory. Unlike Cho, she didn’t kiss him goodbye. She didn’t kiss him at all. Harry went three more rounds after that before it was obvious he was growing sore. The hut flap opened yet again and a large woman entered. For the first time, Harry feared for his life. A hand reached over and settled on the woman’s shoulder.

“Millie dear,” it was Hermione, “I think that’s enough for one night,” turning to Harry she said, “Come. I’ll take you to your prince.”

Following her out of what he now deemed “the mating hut,” Harry found a curious question, “So what happens if you have a son?”

“He’s returned to his father,” she stopped in front of a large hut, “Here you are.”

Harry spotted a glimmer of blond hair and stumbled into the hut. He collapsed on the bed next to Malfoy.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so defeated,” the Slytherin noted.

“There were a lot of girls.”

“If I had known this is what would bring you to heel, I might have reconsidered the _Crucio_ in the dungeons.”

Harry threw his pillow at him. Malfoy threw it back before asking, “Is it different?” It was almost a hesitant question.

“Than with a man? Yes.” But it was different with every partner.

“Do you prefer it?”

Thinking for a minute, Harry tried to answer honestly, “I prefer someone I love.”

 


	12. TWELVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own anything. JK Rowling owns all Harry Potter-verse things and CS Pacat owns all Captive Prince-verse things. I've merely read both and decided they should collide. :)
> 
> Please forgive any spelling errors. I'm notoriously a fast typer and this has not been proofed by anyone other than myself. xx
> 
> \--
> 
> Some background on Draco :)

The next morning Malfoy informed Harry of what had happened while the latter was in the“mating hut.” The blond had convinced The Empress of Tom’s treachery — that his ambitions would not stop at Slytherin and Gryffindor. That Tom sought to seize control of all four kingdoms and their combined lands, including The Forbidden Forest. The Empress had agreed to a temporary alliance. As a gesture of good faith, she offered two of her best fighters to accompany them back.

“Two?” Malfoy had inquired, incredulous.

“Two of my girls are worth your entire Guard, young prince.”

And that was that. The girls knew where the Slytherin camp was, having kept tabs on anyone who dared venture near The Forbidden Forest. Malfoy and Harry were supplied with brooms to make their return — Malfoy with Luna on one and Harry with Hermione on the other.

 

* * *

 

 

Upon arrival, Malfoy beelined for Blaise’s tent. Everyone followed. Turning in, they were greeted with an unexpected sight. Blaise, mid-coitus with one very shocked Zacharias Smith. Malfoy cleared his throat. Luna giggled and turned around. Hermione sought to examine her fingernails. Harry found a nice shrub to admire outside.

“Your highness!” the voices echoed in unison.

“Have you quite finished?”

There was a sound of scrambling feet and rustling clothes before Blaise answered, “Your highness, we did not expect you back so soon.”

“Clearly.”

Harry thought it was safe to turn back around, so he did. Blaise was standing there in only his pants looking quite embarrassed. Smith was a bright shade of pink, standing behind his lover.

“These women are my guests,” the blond prince gestured to Hermione and Luna, “I want them accommodated and then I want a full report.”

“Yes, of course,” Blaise bowed deeply, “But there is a pressing matter.”

Malfoy arched one careful eyebrow.

“While you were gone, your aunt was made aware of your whereabouts due to our current proximity. She was rather insistent you pay her a visit,” Blaise gestured to the overfilling trunk of letters, “ _Very_ insistent. She may have threatened to show up here.”

Malfoy tensed, “Very well. Thank you, Blaise.” He swept himself out of the room and Harry followed.

“Are you going to see your aunt?”

“Yes, but it’s something I need to do alone,” he turned towards Harry, “You should eat,” he sniffed, “And probably bathe.”

 

* * *

 

 

Harry did just that. After a dip in the nearby lake, Harry found himself eating with the other men by the fire.

“So what’s it like fucking an aristocrat?” the voice belonged to Marcus Flint — addressed to Blaise, but it was Smith who answered; having just arrived, “Brilliant.”

“What’s it like fucking a prince?” Smith turned the question on Harry. Blaise almost spat out his drink.

“We’re not fucking,” Harry said plainly. It convinced no one. The teasing continued.

“Come on! Tell us. Half the men are wanking over his Royal Highness.”

“Who fucks who?”

“Nah, we all know he fucks the prince.”

“No, the prince rides him like a champion broom.”

“I bet it’s nice to shut him up. He orders you around all day and you can fuck him face-down into the sheets at night.”

Blaise was dying from laughter. Soon the other men finished their meals and left. Harry heard Smith whispering to Blaise he would be waiting in his tent. Only Flint, Blaise, and Harry remained.

“So what’s he really like?” Flint clarified, “Not in the bedchamber.”

Harry shrugged, “I suppose you all know. I imagine he’s the same with with all of us. If anything, he treats me worse.”

Flint shook his head, “Nah, mate. It’s different with you,” then eased himself back against a tree, “He was fifteen when I met him. I wasn’t that much older. Lord Riddle had just assumed the Regency. Things were changing. The class difference, it was there before — but with the new Regent, it was clear cut. If you weren’t a nobleman, you were no one. And I was no one.”

Harry found himself leaning in, watching Flint as he continued his story, “He found me in the orphanage. Chance happening, he was being escorted through the town I was in. Saw me practice dueling with another boy. Stopped his caravan and came over. Said he never seen some of these jinxes before. Told him, they were my own. He asked if I would join his Guard. Thought he was having me on, but—“ Flint took a deep breath, “He made me someone. Saved my life probably. Don’t know where I would have ended up if I wasn’t here. But in all the years that I’ve served him, there’s always been a clean line between prince and guard. That line’s nothing but blurry for you,” he clapped Harry on the back, “But I suppose that’s what happens when you’re fucking ‘im.”

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. Blaise collapsed in another fit of laughter, but he spoke next, “I’ve told you I’ve known him my whole life. My father served his father, brought me along sometimes to Malfoy Manor when we were young. He left for the palace when he was of age to be properly introduced to the court. I didn’t see him again until after his father died,” Harry felt a stab of guilt at that, “When my father refused to serve the Regent, didn’t agree with his ways, Lord Riddle stripped him of everything. No lands, no titles, no money. Imagine my surprise when a blond head appeared in my fireplace, asking me if I’d join his Guard. He couldn’t give me back the lands, but could give me other ones. A new title, enough money to support my family. But Flint here is right,” Blaise thumbed in the direction of the other man, “I owe the prince a great debt and everyday I’m fighting to repay it and he knows it. He knows I would die for him, but I would never dare say we were friends. I think you might be able to say differently,” with that, he gave a quick nod to Harry and stood. Flint stood also and bid him good night. Alone with the fire, the words of Dobby echoed in his head - _The Slytherin prince is most kind_.

 

 


	13. THIRTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own anything. JK Rowling owns all Harry Potter-verse things and CS Pacat owns all Captive Prince-verse things. I've merely read both and decided they should collide. :)
> 
> Please forgive any spelling errors. I'm notoriously a fast typer and this has not been proofed by anyone other than myself. xx

In the subsequent days following their return, the camp had been moved to Malfoy Manor at the behest of the prince’s aunt, the Lady Andromeda Tonks. It was a nice change from the constant flying and nights in tents. The men were weary and it was a good respite for them. Andromeda was cordial and the house-elves left them no room for want in their meals. They ate in the drawing room — situated around a long table that accommodated most if not all. Pansy had come to join them a few days later. The prince took his meals in his room, alone.

“So how does one join The Order?” Pansy had inquired.

“Really, Pansy?” Blaise wondered, “Thinking of taking up in the Forbidden Forest?”

“Was only curious.”

“There are only two ways. You either are born a member or trial by combat,” Hermione replied, “If it’s the latter — you duel with The Empress’s chosen champion. If you win, you’re in.”

“So which was it for you?”

“I was born in the forest,” Luna offered. Harry had gathered as much.

“Combat,” Hermione offered a toothy grin, “Luckily I faced Millie. She wasn’t quite as quick on her feet. I don’t know if I would have made it facing Lavender.”

“So you were born in the outside world. Which kingdom?”

“None of them. I was born in the Muggle world.”

“You’re Muggle-born?” Blaise again, “How did you end up in the Forbidden Forest?”

Hermione stirred her bowl of soup absent-mindedly, “From a young age it was obvious that I was…different. My parents tried to hide it. Thought I’d be persecuted for it. One day there was a raid on our village. My parents were casualties of a Muggle war. It was my magic that saved me. After that, I was a bit of a nomad. Eventually I came across a strange book detailing the story of Lady Minerva and I thought I would try to find this Forbidden Forest — or die trying,” she offered a smile.

“That’s very brave of you,” Luna smiled back, “We are so glad you found us.”

“A Muggle war,” Blaise was still caught up on it, “How do Muggles fight?”

“Muggle weapons,” Hermione explained and began detailing things like rifles, crossbows, knives, swords.

“Merlin!” Blaise remarked.

“Non-magic combat?” Pansy’s eyebrows were at her hairline, “How uncouth.”

Harry grinned at the lot of them. Even as he knew they were practically at the border, Gryffindor in sight — they felt oddly like home. The peace was fragile and it was severed by the arrival of a messenger.

 

* * *

 

 

“The Regent’s troops!” the messenger bowed, “Approaching the Manor.”

Andromeda stood calmly, “Send for my nephew.” The servant nodded and left to fetch the prince.

So they stood in the courtyard and waited; Malfoy in front of his men and Harry beside him. Hermione and Luna stood holding hands on the other side. When the troops arrived, they were led by a short, wide-set woman cloaked in a fluorescent pink. It was offending to the eyes. The rest of the men were emblazoned with the Regent’s sigil — a modified version of the Slytherin crest; it was a skull with a serpent protruding from its mouth.

“Commander Umbridge,” Malfoy noted, “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Draco of Slytherin, you are under arrest for acts of treason! You have colluded with Gryffindor against your own kingdom, openly assaulted the Regent’s Captain, and have fraternized with the harlots of the Forbidden Forest.” Luna and Hermione had their wands drawn. Malfoy held them back with a hand, “And who has signed my warrant?”

“The king.”

“There is no king. My father is dead.”

Umbridge turned the same shade as her cloak, “Lord Riddle has treated you like his own son. This is how you repay his kindness? Your Gryffindor sympathies have lured you down a dark path. The Regent only wishes for you to see the error of your ways. Accept your arrest, stand trial for your crimes, and repent for your actions against the crown!”

“ _I am the crown_ ,” the blond replied — each word punctuated.

“You are outnumbered and outmatched,” Umbridge huffed, “You can come quietly or it can be a bloodbath. I have no preference,” she sneered at all of them. It was true. The Regent’s troops outnumbered them three to one. And Malfoy, he would never allow his men to die for him even if they were willing. Harry scanned the crowd behind him. Blaise, Flint, and the others had their wands drawn — ready for the word. The prince meanwhile, continued to stand calmly as if he were placing an order for his meal.

One of Umbridge’s men approached her, “Commander, there are troops to the east. Not ours.” Umbridge craned her neck around and peered into the distance as did everyone. They were rapidly approaching. On the horizon, the Ravenclaw banner flew — the blue and bronze filling the skyline. Harry recalled Malfoy with Padma on the balcony. Malfoy ushering him out of the room to speak with his contact. Now troops bearing the eagle sigil have begun surrounding Malfoy Manor, surrounding the Regent’s own men.

“I think you do have a preference,” Malfoy answered, “Unfortunately it cannot be accommodated,” he drew his wand.

 

* * *

 

 

It was Umbridge who cast first, “ _Reducto_ ,” she screamed. Malfoy dodged it and it blew apart one of the stone fixtures of the Manor.

“ _Confringo_ ,” Malfoy countered. Harry knew he had picked that one up from Luna, who was employing the same against a group of men. Harry threw himself into the midst of it — dodging curses and landing his own. He had mistakenly left his right side open and turned to see a shield had erupted around him, thwarting a nasty hex.

“You shall _not_ hurt the Good Sir!” It was Dobby, Padma on her broom above. Dobby nodded, “Dobby has promised to repay Sir. Dobby is here to fight for Sir!”

Harry nodded, determined to push past the front line of the Regent’s troops. He was surprised by his anger or perhaps surprised by the true dishonor of the Regent. He spotted Malfoy at the head of his men — blond hair like the radiant sun. All around him, the prince’s men were gaining ground. He saw the determination in Blaise’s face, in Flint’s spellwork, in the rallying cries of the others. They weren’t here for the glory of Slytherin. They were here for their prince. He could feel Umbridge’s army falling back as their numbers fell.

“Push them in!” he heard Blaise yell. The prince’s men were pushing in the front. The Ravenclaw army was crowding from behind. Harry locked eyes with Umbridge. Her cloak was stained with blood — hers or another’s, he did not know. He charged forth. She erected a shield. His anger was mounting. He made a slashing motion with his wand, breaking through it. Her eyes widened in confusion. It was a nonverbal incantation. Only the most powerful of wizards could have mastered it. As Harry advanced on her, he saw the realization dawn on her face. She had not been this close to him before. Sweating, he had pushed his hair aside — his scar visible in the daylight.

“It _can’t_ be,” she shrieked as Harry raised his wand.

“ _Avada Kedavra_ ,” Harry launched his attack. And as the air erupted with a flash of blinding green light, Harry heard her last words, “HARRY POTTER.” When it was over, Umbridge laid motionless on the ground — the life gone from her eyes. Harry was suddenly aware of a stilled body next to him. _Oh Godric_ , Harry thought. It was Malfoy. He had heard. Harry turned to face the truth, his face bore all the apologies he wanted to say; but it was not Malfoy. It was Blaise, staring at him wide-eyed and slack-jawed -- absolutely horrified.  


	14. FOURTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own anything. JK Rowling owns all Harry Potter-verse things and CS Pacat owns all Captive Prince-verse things. I've merely read both and decided they should collide. :)
> 
> Please forgive any spelling errors. I'm notoriously a fast typer and this has not been proofed by anyone other than myself. xx
> 
> \-- 
> 
> WARNING - minor character death in this chapter.

“Does he know?!” Blaise demanded.

Harry shook his head.

“Are you going to kill me?”

Harry shook his head again. Blaise lowered his wand, but did not put it away. It was the aftermath of the battle. Harry had dragged him off to the sidelines, “Do you hate him so much that you would do this?”

Harry’s head snapped up, “I’m not here to hurt him.”

Blaise scoffed at that, “You think you haven’t? He _trusted_ you. And you lied to him! You lied to all of us! And you’ve got him—“ Blaise shook his head violently, “You’re sick. This is some twisted Gryffindor plot. You kill his father and then bend him over every night.”

 _We haven’t_ , Harry wanted to say. But it would make no difference.

“You are going to leave,” Blaise instructed, “You will gather your things tonight and tomorrow morning you will be gone. If you don’t, I will tell him and you will wish he had killed you in that dungeon.”

Harry didn’t fight it. It was always the plan. He had promised them to the border — nothing more.

“To think I considered you a friend,” Blaise spat, “You disgust me.”

 

* * *

 

 

Inside, the men were celebrating. Firewhisky was flowing. The house-elves had whipped up a feast. In a rare moment, Malfoy was smiling — standing besides a beaming Andromeda. Luna was twirling a laughing Hermione. In one corner, Pansy and Padma were engaged in conversation. Even Severus Snape had emerged from his potions laboratory to sneak a drink. Marcus Flint appeared and shoved an overflowing goblet into Harry’s hand. Harry’s mood did not match the scene. He stared at the firewhisky and downed it.

Later when the revelry died down, he found Malfoy in his room — staring out a window with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Right there,” Malfoy pointed out to the gardens, “Eleven years old. I crashed my first broom. Father was a much better flier. Though not the best,” he gave Harry an honest look.

 _His father_ , Harry felt a lump in his throat. He remembered that day at Beauxbatons; Lucius on his broom, Harry on his. The Slytherin king was much older, more careful with his movements. Harry flew like he had nothing to lose. He evaded hexes and curses like they were bludgers in a Quidditch game. It was brute force and Gryffindor recklessness that knocked Lucius off his broom, not magic. Harry flew straight for the Slytherin king — colliding with him and knocking both of them to the ground. They had scrambled to stand, scrambled for their wands. Harry was only eighteen, Lucius was the more experienced wizard. Harry remembered dropping his wand — having taken a stunning charm to the head, the king standing over him; long blond hair flying in the wind — his own wand raised. _This was it_ , Harry had thought. He was going to die. Except he didn’t.

His duress let loose his magic on the battlefield. The sky crackled with it, a storm began to brew. From the earth, vines began to sprout — wrapping themselves around Lucius, holding him back. It was Devil’s Snare. He remembered those grey eyes widening in surprise. “ _Expelliarmus!”_ Harry had shouted and watched as Lucius’s wand flew from the king’s hand to his own. Harry pointed it back at him, “ _Avada Kedavra_.” The battle ended shortly after. As Lucius stumbled and fell, the Gryffindor army surged forth. The king’s lifeless body was levitated into the air by his men, Slytherin beating a hasty retreat.

“He would have been proud of you,” Harry finally said.

“For scaring the peacocks and defacing half of Malfoy Manor during a fight?” For the first time ever, Harry saw his facade dropped. Malfoy looked tired.

“You don’t want to be king,” Harry realized.

The blond turned to face him, “It’s not a matter of _want._ I am the only Malfoy heir. What will happen to my men if I’m not king? Who will protect my people, if not me? It is not for glory or power that I—“ he stopped, as if he had already said too much. When he began again, it was the same cool, detached tone he always used, “I was raised with a certain ideology about power. After my father died, I fought so hard to be the kind of son he wanted, but I’ve come to understand that I cannot be the kind of king he was.”

Harry understood. His own father hated Slytherin, _all_ Slytherins. Merlin only knows what he would say if he saw him now, standing in the bedchamber of a Malfoy.

The prince continued on, “I was cruel to you before. I will not insult you with an apology. But I will not treat you that way again, you have my word.”

Oh how Harry wished for things to be different; perhaps in a different time, a different place — he might have been a different Harry, not Prince Harry Potter of Gryffindor, but just Harry. He shook himself from the thought, “I want you to know that whatever happens, you will always have an ally across the border.”

“Allies,” Malfoy repeated the word, “Is that us?” He was close now, so close. Harry couldn’t breathe. They were more. It was obvious in the silences that lingered, in the doublespeak that they employed, in the glances that stayed too long. Harry was never good with his words, so his answer was to move. He took a step closer — closing the gap between them. He reached out with a hand, cupping the side of Malfoy’s face. The other man did not flinch, but Harry heard his breath hitched.

Harry could feel his heart beating in his chest. He had faced entire battalions in battle, done the horizontal tango with the women of The Order, stared down death on numerous occasions — but he had never been so afraid as he was now. Slowly, he leaned in and pressed his mouth to Malfoy’s. In his kiss were all the things he wanted to say: _I’m sorry. I lied. You deserve better. I love you. Forget me_. Malfoy pushed back just as hard, his tongue fighting its way inside Harry’s mouth. His kiss was earnest, demanding, unyielding.

“Your highness!” They quickly separated. There was Blaise, standing at the door, eyes full of daggers for Harry.

 

* * *

 

 

“What is it?” Malfoy snapped.

“Apologies, your highness — but there’s been a message from The Regent.”

Blaise led the way. They were in the drawing room once more. The table had been pushed aside. The crowd parted as their prince emerged. There, on the floor was the mangled body of Theodore — who would never see fourteen. The messenger who had delivered it, standing haughtily.

“Severus!” the blond called.

Snape appeared, kneeling besides the body; casting a few detection spells before looking up, his face grim, “It’s not Polyjuice. It’s him.”

There was a unanimous sharp intake from the crowd.

“A note,” Snape called. It had to be pried Theo’s bloodied hand. Snape handed it to the prince.

Malfoy unfurled the parchment, “The prince is a traitor to his own kingdom. He has spilt Slytherin blood and pitted his own countrymen against each other. He has been disinherited from the throne and formally charged with treason. This notice will be posted across the country. Anyone with information regarding his crimes or who assists in bringing him in will be generously rewarded.”

When Malfoy spoke again, his tone was clipped, “Is that all?”

The messenger stepped forward, “Theodore begged for your life. He sided with a traitor. He paid his price, the same price anyone who sides with you will pay.”

“Tell Tom if he insists on killing all of his pets, there will be no one left for him to fuck.”

The messenger paled, but continued on, “Lord Riddle has stated that if you have any honor, you will meet him in battle. On the battlefield, you will be shown who the rightful king is. He waits for you at Hogwarts.” With that, he mounted his broom and kicked off. Malfoy stormed off, Andromeda quickly following him. Harry was left with Blaise, who regarded him coolly, “It will be sunrise in six hours.” Harry nodded.

 

* * *

 

 

He returned to his room, quickly bathed, dressed, and began preparing himself to leave. There was a sound at the door. Harry did not look up, “ _Blaise_ , I am leaving. You don’t need to stand there and—“ But it wasn’t Blaise. It was the prince.

“Going somewhere?” Malfoy inquired.

“I’m leaving. I said I’d take you to the border. I have. I will be gone by tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” the blond stated, “But it’s still tonight.” Harry stood, wordless. Tomorrow the sun will rise and Blaise will tell him. Harry will be miles away. But tonight, there was only the starry sky and a golden prince.

“Stay,” Malfoy said, “Tonight, stay.”


	15. FIFTEEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I do not own anything. JK Rowling owns all Harry Potter-verse things and CS Pacat owns all Captive Prince-verse things. I've merely read both and decided they should collide. :)
> 
> Please forgive any spelling errors. I'm notoriously a fast typer and this has not been proofed by anyone other than myself. xx
> 
> \--
> 
> IT'S HAPPENING. THIS IS NOT A DRILL! Also, if you want mood music -- put on "Stay" - Jasmine Thompson (Rihanna cover).

Malfoy was crowding him.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked.

“Tell me,” Malfoy continued breaking into his personal space, “Were you born this slow or did a house-elf drop you on your head?”

They were kissing. And then they were falling; the blond pushing him down on the bed. It was Harry who broke away first.

“I know you’re upset about Theo and Tom, but—“

“I don’t want to talk about Theo and Tom.”

They were kissing again. Harry’s coat had already been discarded. Malfoy was deftly undoing the buttons of his shirt — his hands sliding down to Harry’s trousers. Flick, flick — the buttons were open. Then it was the blond’s hands _on him_. It was that night in the Three Broomsticks, magnified.

“I think I remember what you like,” the Slytherin murmured.

“You were all I could think about and you knew it,” Harry said between gasps, “Why are you still _clothed_?” In response, Malfoy reached behind himself to yank off his shirt. His trousers followed after. But that took his hands off Harry who regained enough consciousness to be bewildered that this was even happening. Malfoy stared down at him, pupils blown wide.

“Kiss me,” Harry said and reached for him. This time it was different. Instead of the hurried, frantic kiss of earlier — it was slow, deep, and full of longing. They parted, their noses still touching.

“Do you still think I’m made of ice?”

Harry shook his head. Every touch felt like fire and if Harry was going to end up burned, he would do so gladly. He wrapped an arm around the blond and flipped them — Malfoy’s back on the silk sheets, Harry above him. A pair of grey eyes peered up at him, curiously. Harry’s own eyes drank him in; every curve of a plump lip, every softness of pale skin, every hard edge of muscle. Never breaking eye contact, Harry lowered his mouth to Malfoy’s cock. The first contact was gentle, more breath than anything else.

“You’re a tease,” the other prince complained.

 _Would serve him right_ , Harry thought — but he had waited too long to tease and pushed the length of the other man down his throat. The prince’s response was a soft moan. Harry pulled back up, his tongue swirling around the head and then flicked at it. He licked the span of his hand and applied it in a consistent motion alongside his mouth. Malfoy was pushing against him, his hands fisted around the sheets.

Harry lifted his head. He saw blond hair fanned against the silk, soft lashes fluttering. Even now, Malfoy couldn’t give up his control. The prince opened his eyes, “You want to fuck me.”

“I want to make love to you.”

“You’re a romantic.”

“I—“ It was sitting on the edge of his tongue. _I love you_. “I want it to be good for you,” he finally replied. The blond nodded. Harry kissed his neck sweetly, “Are you sure you’ve done this before?”

“Yes. But there was only one before…this.”

Harry cast a lubrication spell. Then he eased one finger inside, hearing a small gasp at the intrusion. Harry glanced up at him. For all of his fancy words and his schooled indifference, Malfoy now looked young and vulnerable. Harry’s heart was beating wildly. Another finger. He watched as the other man closed his eyes; his head tipped backwards.

“Are you all right?”

“ _Will you get on with it_?”

A third finger. Harry withdraw his hand and kissed him again — pressing himself forward slowly. Malfoy was hot and tight around him. It was overwhelming. Harry felt like he might implode from the very _idea_ that he had been allowed this. His body fell into a steady rhythm. Deeper and deeper, he pushed himself. He raised his hand to join it with the other man’s — their fingers laced together, their mouths never apart. It was building, that ache inside of him. Below him, Malfoy was panting; his legs squeezing around Harry.

“Come inside of me,” a voice whispering in his ear, “I want you to come inside of me.”

And Harry could hold on no longer.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry was propped up on one arm, staring down at the blond.

Malfoy smiled at him shyly, “Was this what it was like in the mating hut?”

Harry shook his head.

“Because I’m a man?”

“Because it’s you.”

 _Stop it_ , Harry chided himself. _You’re leaving tomorrow_. It was too painful a truth to face. But it was still tonight, he still had tonight. He laid back down and pulled the other prince back into his arms. It was the best sleep he had had in a long time. When Harry woke again, it was morning. The sunlight dancing through the windows — pulling him from his slumber. He slid his hand over and felt nothing. Malfoy was gone, the indentation on rumpled silk was the only indicator he had ever been there at all.

 

 


	16. SIXTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own anything. JK Rowling owns all Harry Potter-verse things and CS Pacat owns all Captive Prince-verse things. I've merely read both and decided they should collide. :)
> 
> Please forgive any spelling errors. I'm notoriously a fast typer and this has not been proofed by anyone other than myself. xx
> 
> \--
> 
> In this world, Hogwarts isn't a school. It's a giant, fortified castle.

Harry found Malfoy in the study in the middle of a vicious row with Blaise. The latter was clearly losing. Immediately, he stepped between them.

“What’s going on?”

“He wants to round up the men and storm Hogwarts. I told him it was a death sentence!” Blaise yelled.

“You’ve grown too familiar!” Malfoy replied, “You forget yourself.”

“It is a death sentence,” Harry interrupted, “Hogwarts is practically impenetrable and you aren’t going to be able to do it with the amount of people we have. Tom knows that.”

A pair of stormy grey eyes looked him over, “Aren’t you due somewhere else?”

“Blaise, _go_ ,” Harry instructed — hoping the other man would actually listen. He sighed in relief as he heard hurried footsteps behind him. Turning to Malfoy he said, “You know Blaise can’t go up against you. Why are you acting like this?” The blond did not answer — choosing instead to knock the entire contents of a nearby desk to the ground. Harry didn’t move.

“This is what the Regent wants. I know we didn’t get to talk about it last night because—“ Harry blushed, “But what he did to Theo — that was to rattle you. And clearly it did because I’ve never seen you like this.”

Malfoy turned around. He had reeled in his emotions, his mask back in place, “Perhaps I’m not the man you think I am.”

Harry stepped closer. Green eyes held grey, “I know you’d never let your men to die for you. If you do this, you’re leading them to the slaughter. This is a war. We may not have the men to out-fight him, but I _know_ you can outplay him.”

“You say that because you know me now,” the other prince ran his hand across the now emptied desk, “But I was fifteen when Tom first challenged me for my throne.”

Harry crossed the room, “You can’t give up.”

Silence and then, “Don’t go.” Harry stared at him, startled. Malfoy shook his head — as if intending to take it back, “I know I can see this through. I just can’t —“ he shook his head again, “I need more time. I don’t trust myself right now. I don’t trust my decisions. _Stay_. Just, just a little while longer.”

What could Harry do? He promised to stay. With his heart outside his chest, he promised. That was enough to hold the other prince. Malfoy shot up, as if resurrected,“You said we didn’t have enough manpower. What if we did? How much more manpower would it take?”

Harry ran the scenarios through his head, “More than Ravenclaw.”

“Hufflepuff?”

“It would give us a real shot.”

“Then I will take half the men and fly to Hufflepuff,” Malfoy was determined, “I will secure the reinforcements. In three days’ time, meet me at Hogwarts. We’ll take it together. Until then, guard Malfoy Manor.” With that he was gone, a blur of black and emerald.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Blaise was waiting outside the study, “You’re still here.”

“Go ahead and tell him,” Harry stated, “I’m staying. I promised him.”

Before Blaise could answer, a servant raced down the hallway, “Gryffindor is coming!”

Blaise pulled out his wand, “I should have _known_.”

Harry held up his hands, “I had nothing to do with this!” But Blaise wouldn’t cease. Harry had no choice. In a split-second decision, his shoulder collided with the other man — effectively knocking his wand out of his hand. Blaise, unprepared for non-magic combat, went reeling into the door. Harry pocketed the wand and raced outside. There, where sky meets earth, was the red and gold of the Gryffindor banner. Harry watched as the lion sigil grew larger and larger — as a small piece of home came nearer and nearer, until it was all he could see. Flint was the next to arrive in the courtyard. The others soon followed. Looks of confusion, fear, and malevolence spread amongst them. Was this an attack? Was their prince really involved in a secret conspiracy with Gryffindor?

At the head of the army was a familiar freckled-faced redhead. Harry’s pulse was racing, “Drop the wards! Open the gates,” he ordered.

“But these are Gryffindor troops!” Flint argued, but stopped when he realized who was talking to. Wearily, the wards were dropped. The wrought-iron gates opened. The redhead was dismounting. Harry’s feet guided him forward.

“When we were thirteen, you got into a row with Percy about stealing his Head Boy badge. But it was Fred and George.”

Ron’s mouth dropped open, “This is impossible. They said you were _dead_. They showed me—“ and then as if realizing who he was talking to, Ron dropped to his knees, “Your highness.”

Neville, who had dismounted after Ron, was running towards them, “Commander Weasley—“ he stopped as he saw a kneeling Ron. His eyes lifted to Harry. He, too, dropped to his knees, “Your highness.” And like a domino effect, it spread. Men began kneeling. Whispers were mounting into shouts, “He lives. Harry Potter lives.”

And Harry stood waiting, before a sea of red and gold, the Prince-Who-Lived.

 


	17. SEVENTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own anything. JK Rowling owns all Harry Potter-verse things and CS Pacat owns all Captive Prince-verse things. I've merely read both and decided they should collide. :)
> 
> Please forgive any spelling errors. I'm notoriously a fast typer and this has not been proofed by anyone other than myself. xx

“Harry Potter?!” It was Flint; he was staring at Harry in disbelief — his wand drawn. In return, Ron drew his. Harry was forced to stand between them, but the panic was already sweeping. It was obvious to anyone who could see that the Gryffindor forces outnumbered the remaining Slytherins at Malfoy Manor. The others were beginning to draw their wands. Neville already had his out. Harry was not prepared for this.

He turned to Ron, “Shut it down.”

It was a quick surrender. Ron and his men rounded up the Slytherins and took them back inside the Manor. Harry followed after.

“Who is Harry Potter?” Luna asked, “And why is everyone panicking?” Pansy rolled her eyes and whispered into the blonde’s ear. “Oh dear,” Luna replied.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Andromeda demanded. She stared right at Harry, “Have you betrayed my nephew?”

 _No_. _Yes_. Harry wasn’t quite sure how to answer that. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Instead of answering, he headed into the drawing room. With the immediate threat subdued, Harry finally had a moment with Ron.

“It’s good to see you again,” he said.

The redhead looked stunned, “Good to see—“ he shook his head violently, “We thought you were _dead_! I mourned you!” Ron reached into his pockets and procured a silver ring. It was Malfoy’s, “I got a letter with this ring stating that he had _information_ regarding your death. I didn’t expect to—“ He didn’t get to finish his sentence because Harry had pulled him into a tight embrace.

“Real good to see you,” Harry whispered in his ear before letting go, “How’s Gryffindor?”

Ron sighed, “Complete anarchy. Very few people support Dudley as king. Many believed your death was intentional. And your father—“ the other man had an uneasy look on his face, “Your father was poisoned.”

Harry staggered back. _Poisoned_. By whom? Dudley? Fleur? Not outright, of course — but they had concocted the plan. Was their treachery so devious that Dudley would resort to murdering their father? No, he shouldn’t be surprised. They had shipped him off to an enemy nation as a slave, after all.

“You all right?” It was Ron with an arm out to steady him, “Maybe you should sit down.”

He shook it off, “No. Bring me Blaise Zabini.”

 

* * *

 

 

Blaise was hauled in and pushed to his knees.

“No, let him stand.”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to persuade the men to fight with us. Together, we can take Hogwarts.”

“Are you daft?!” For that, Blaise got a backhand from one of the Gryffindor guards. Stumbling, he still spoke, “You betrayed our prince.”

“Nothing has changed,” Harry argued, “I’m still the man you know. And I still intend to keep the promises I made,” with that he handed Blaise back his wand, “Go on.”

The other man stared at him wearily before raising his wand, “ _Legilimens.”_ Harry relaxed and let him in. As he felt Blaise enter his mind, he led him. Scenes began filling his head: him and Malfoy running through Knockturn Alley, Malfoy with his hand in Harry’s hair — laughing, their first real conversation together, Harry throwing his pillow at the other prince, their first kiss, their last night. He felt Blaise pull back suddenly.

“You—You love him,” the other man said. He nodded, “I believe you.”

“Love?!” Ron interjected, “Wait, love _who_? What happened here?”

So Harry told him. Everything. And watched as his best friend grew paler and paler by the second. Neville looked like he might keel over.

“No!” It was Seamus Finnigan, “You were a _slave_ to the Slytherin prince? We need to obliviate everyone who knows.”

“I’m not going to hide it!” Harry shouted, “And that’s final.”

 

* * *

 

 

The Regent had chosen Hogwarts for all the right reasons. It was a military stronghold. Invading it was practically impossible. They would be sitting ducks — easy pickings. Today was almost over. Flying to it would take a days’ time. A battle would be waged on the third. Three days, that’s what he had promised Malfoy. But he had the Gryffindor army now, alongside Ravenclaw’s alliance. And he had faith Malfoy would come through with Hufflepuff. With the might of three kingdoms together, it might just make the impossible — possible.

“I think I can help,” a voice called. Harry looked up. It was Zacharias Smith. He had been released alongside all the Slytherins who had agreed to stand with Harry.

“How?

“My father is Councillor Smith. He doesn’t know I’m here—with the prince. He thinks I’ve just run away. He’s with Lord Riddle now. All of the Council is. I could go in, drop the wards and then everyone could apparate in.”

“No, it’s too dangerous,” Blaise interrupted, “You can’t do that.”

“He won’t go alone then.”

In the end, the answer was Polyjuice. Smith wrote to his father announcing his plans for arrival. He would be accompanied by a few old “schoolmates.” Blaise, Harry, and Ron would ingest Snape’s modified Polyjuice and enter with him. They’d drop the wards, open the castle to apparition, and launch a full-scale ambush. The first part went swimmingly. It wasn’t until they were halfway through the battle that Harry realized they were still waiting on Malfoy. Malfoy, who had promised to bring reinforcements, was nowhere to be found.

“ _Where is he_?” Ron demanded between spells.

Harry didn’t know. And as his men were dying around him, it was becoming harder to believe that the other prince would appear. Harry’s desperate mind could map out a twisted logic: Invite Ron to Malfoy Manor to reunite with Harry, Harry will convince Blaise to fight who in turn will convince the Slytherins to fight. Let the Gryffindors fight your battle for you. If they die, you’ve lost a few enemies. If the Regent’s men die, you’ve lost a few enemies. It was a win-win if your name was Draco Malfoy.


	18. EIGHTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own anything. JK Rowling owns all Harry Potter-verse things and CS Pacat owns all Captive Prince-verse things. I've merely read both and decided they should collide. :)
> 
> Please forgive any spelling errors. I'm notoriously a fast typer and this has not been proofed by anyone other than myself. xx

They had won. By some ridiculous grace of Godric, they had won the battle — at the cost of half of Harry’s men. He was standing in the middle of the battlefield — bodies strewn haphazardly across the castle when a single white owl came through the window; dropping a letter in his hands. Turning it over, he saw it was sealed with the Slytherin crest.

“Is it _him_?” Ron asked.

In meticulous, beautiful handwriting it read: _I was told you’ve won Hogwarts. I’m at Malfoy Manor. Meet me there._ Harry felt like ripping his hair out.

 

* * *

 

 

He ordered half the men to guard Hogwarts and half to fly with him. By the next day he had arrived at the Manor. He cautioned Ron that he should enter first — not wholly prepared for what awaited him. He found Malfoy in the study. The previously chaotic scene had been righted as if nothing had happened. The blond was leaning casually against the desk. There were no guards. No sign of anyone else. Malfoy had chosen to greet him alone.

“I have Hogwarts,” Harry confirmed.

“I had my bets on you.”

“Your men think you’ve abandoned them — that you’re a coward,” Harry thought of Blaise — with his shocked expression, Smith with disillusionment in his eyes, and Flint who looked like he didn’t know what to believe in anymore, “Ron thinks you’re the devil incarnate.”

“And what do you think?”

“I know you wouldn’t send your men to die.”

“Like I said, perhaps I’m not the man you think I am.”

Harry edged closer. There wasn’t much personal space left between them, “You’re pants at a glamour charm.”

Malfoy stiffened and then huffed. With a wave of his hand the glamour disappeared, replaced by a cut above his left eyebrow and a split lip.

“You never made it to Hufflepuff.”

“As a matter of fact I did. There was a slight…deterrence, but rest assured, I did. And I have the full might of their forces behind me.”

Harry could do this no more, “I need to tell you the truth about who I am—“

The other prince cut him off, “I know who you are, Harry Potter of Gryffindor.”

He recoiled in surprise. Distance, once more, between them.

“I knew when I first saw you. I knew in the dungeons. I knew—“

“You knew here?” Harry willed his voice to be calm, “You knew _that night_? If you knew, how could you possibly—“

“Let you take me to bed?” the other man laughed. It was hollow, “I wanted a victory at Hogwarts. You wanted me. It was a simple trade,” he said neatly.

Harry’s heart was beating so loudly, he was positive they could hear it in all four kingdoms. His voice was dry when he spoke next, “You’re lying.”

“Am _I_? Did you think I wouldn’t know the man who _killed my father_? Did you think I hadn’t spent all these years memorizing his face? Committing to memory every detail about him?”

“Why am I here then?”

Malfoy began to pace the room, “You are here for an official alliance. Hogwarts was a distraction. Tom was never there. He never intended to be there. He has fled to Gryffindor to take refuge alongside your bastard half-brother-cousin, my your family is quite convoluted, and his whore-queen. As I imagine, that probably has made your stomach turn.”

“You like this,” Harry spat, “You _like_ playing with the fate of our kingdoms?! We’re not pawns in your game!”

“Oh but we are. But you’re wrong about it being my game. This is Tom’s game. He knew who you were. As the result of his collusion with Dudley and Fleur, he requested you sent to me. He was waiting for you to bed me, so he could turn around and tell me who you were. Thought it’d break me.”

“And you want my men to die fighting your battles?”

“Of course not. Not without a trade. As I've said, I have the full might of Hufflepuff. You already know I have Ravenclaw. But how does the saying go? There’s no army like a Gryffindor army? Join forces with me, take down Tom, and take back your throne.”

“That’s it?”

“Oh and I would suggest we move the border,” the blond conjured a map and quickly outlined where the new border would be. Slytherin would extend south — taking up prime seaports and lush, fertile land that was currently Gryffindor’s. Harry had not come prepared. He had come as himself. Malfoy had come as the Prince of Slytherin.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t just hand you over to Tom in exchange for my throne.”

“You really must have been dropped on your head as a child. Always so slow on the uptake. Word has already spread of who you are. All of Slytherin knows by now. Tom could never ally with you — the kingslayer. Dudley is the lesser of two Gryffindor evils.”

“You’re alone. Your men think you’ve betrayed them. Your people think you’re a Gryffindor sympathizer. You literally _were_ in bed with Gryffindor. You’re reaching.”

“I have something else,” those grey eyes were like iron, as strong as his will, “I have the testimony of Councillor Pettigrew — who will swear that he was witness to Tom’s underhanded deal with Dudley and Fleur, which includes the assassination of your father.”

Harry hadn’t expected that. This was Malfoy’s arena — where he shone the best. Harry was a fighter, a combat-driven leader. Malfoy was a political strategist. The blond offered him a haughty stare, as if to say _checkmate._

 _“_ And are we going to pretend it never happened?”

“Oh that,” Malfoy examined his fingernails, “Not to worry. All the men think you fuck me into the mattress regardless of whether you had. I’ve never been one to falter at court gossip.”

“So this is it then,” Harry said curtly, “You want to force my hand?”

“By all means, walk away. If you think you can.”

Harry couldn’t. Malfoy knew it.

“Do we have a deal then?” the blond asked.

Through gritted teeth, Harry replied, “Yes.” They shook on it; from one prince to another. Harry released his hand first, marching out of the room in a huff. He had no thought to turn back, no chance to see Malfoy — released from the conversation — sinking to the ground, his face in his hands.

 


	19. NINETEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own anything. JK Rowling owns all Harry Potter-verse things and CS Pacat owns all Captive Prince-verse things. I've merely read both and decided they should collide. :)
> 
> Please forgive any spelling errors. I'm notoriously a fast typer and this has not been proofed by anyone other than myself. xx

“His Royal Highness, Prince Draco of Slytherin!” the messenger announced. Harry was nervous. This was a proper meeting — in front of both of their countrymen; in the middle of the Gryffindor camp. Princes did not have illicit meetings in bath halls nor do they go mucking about in Knockturn Alley. All the ceremonious protocols must be enacted. Harry was dressed in Gryffindor’s finest — a vision in scarlet and gold. He didn’t like it. After all this time, his palace clothing felt odd. He sat on one of the two thrones — his commanders to his right, the Gryffindor army below.

Harry saw him first — Malfoy at the head of his army, blond hair shimmering in the sunlight. In contrast to Gryffindor’s brilliantly bright colors, the other prince was dressed in his usual austere black. Blaise, Smith, and Flint, all of whom had been returned to Malfoy Manor, followed after. There was no resounding applause, no cheering — only the rushing of the wind as their brooms swept past. Next to Harry, Neville stood looking uneasy. Harry remembered his humble protests when he had informed his men of the alliance. Ron was next to Neville — distrust in his eyes, his protests had been far less humble and much louder. Seamus was the third commander next to Harry. His hand never left his wand.

When Malfoy dismounted, Harry stood. The crowd parted for his presence. The blond prince needed neither crown nor ornate clothing to command anyone’s attention. All eyes were on him.

“Draco of Slytherin,” Harry greeted him. The words sounded foreign in his mouth. It was the first time he had ever greeted the other man by his given name, but protocol demanded it.

“Harry of Gryffindor,” the other returned. He took a seat on the other throne. Harry sat down beside him. There was a rippling of whispers amongst the crowd. Harry knew what they looked like; two rulers of a joint nation.

Harry addressed the crowd, “We are here today to announce our alliance — between Gryffindor and Slytherin against those who have committed treason against our kingdoms and who have sought to place our thrones within their ambitions.”

There were more rumblings of whispered conversations. Harry’s commanders had already briefed their men. He would assume Malfoy’s would have done the same.

Malfoy spoke next, “As a token of our alliance, Slytherin has brought Gryffindor a gift,” he snapped his fingers and a servant rushed forth. Harry felt his heart still. It was fiendfyre trapped inside a snowglobe. To the crowd, the glittering orb was a beautiful spectacle. To Harry, it was a reminder of that night. He swallowed and felt those steely eyes watching him. Harry willed himself not to publicly react. He motioned for one of his own servants to accept it, “Thank you for your generosity. May the fire of our nations’ union burn just as brightly.”

“Of course,” Malfoy smiled, but it was less of a smile and more like an animal baring its teeth, “I remember what you like,” he addressed the crowd, “The forces of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff are also at your disposal. All our combined house-elves will feed your army. Our physicians will heal your sick. I know how valiantly you fought at Hogwarts.”

Harry cleared his throat, “We, too, have a gift,” he made another motion. The Gryffindor court artist stepped forward and unrolled a parchment. It was a drawing of the Slytherin serpent intertwined with the Gryffindor lion — a perfectly symbiotic relationship. The former would wrap itself around the latter and then unwrap and then repeat itself again. It was a beautiful piece of artwork, hand-crafted under Harry’s direction. Malfoy beckoned for his servant to accept the item when Harry interrupted.

“The gift is not the drawing,” Harry explained, “I saw that the usurper -- Tom Riddle,” he waited for the boo’s to pass, “had constructed his own sigil and his men had the symbol inked into their skins. This image is a symbol of our alliance and as a gesture of commitment, I am ready to ink it into my own skin.”

There was a gasp from the crowd. Harry saw something flash across the other prince’s face, but it was immediately suppressed. He knew he had backed Malfoy into a corner. It was far too intimate a gift, but he knew that diplomatically the other could not refuse. And he was right as the blond gave a curt nod of his head. With Harry’s permission, the artist approached with his wand out. Harry rolled up the sleeve of his left arm. Within minutes the image appeared there — the serpent and the lion cut into his skin. The artist approached Malfoy next, but the prince halted him with a raised hand. He turned to Harry, “No, you do it.”

It felt like a dream. Harry stood and listened as the artist whispered the incantation in his ear. Nodding, he turned to Malfoy who had already rolled up his right sleeve. Harry reached for his arm. It was the first time they had touched since, well, _since_. The pale skin was just as soft as he remembered and just as hot to the touch. The blond’s pulse was racing, he could feel it. He traced his wand across the skin, whispered the words, and watched as the same image began etching itself across Malfoy’s arm.

“From me to you,” Harry said quietly. Malfoy stood — Harry’s hand still on his wrist. The latter nodded and raised both their arms. The crowd erupted. Below, the Slytherin and Gryffindor banners changed; what was once only emerald or only scarlet now bore both colors and the same image inked into both their princes took the place of the singular serpent or lion. The treaty was brought forth for both of them to sign and the house-elves raced forward with refreshments.

 

* * *

 

 

Eventually the celebrations died down and Harry found himself alone with Ron.

“Matching tattoos?” his best friend inquired, “What next, _wedding bands_?”

“You don’t like him, I get it,” Harry answered.

“Do you? Because you just let the enemy into our house.”

“It’s not that simple, Ron. Let me explain—“

“You do not need to _explain_. We’ve seen him. He’s blond and he’s beautiful and let’s face it, you have a type. Or did you forget about Fleur? Or that Hufflepuff ambassador, Hannah of House Abbott? Or Ernie Macmillan from the village—“

“That’s quite enough!” Harry knew it was all true. It didn’t mean he wanted to hear it, “I will always put Gryffindor first.”

“He’s the bloody Prince of Slytherin! He _hates_ Gryffindor! This is just a means to an end for him. And you’re in love with him! Merlin, you’re in love with the Prince of Slytherin. You honestly think if you ever had to choose — you wouldn’t falter?”

Harry didn’t know. That was the honest truth.

Ron went on, “You faltered when it came to Fleur. Didn’t I warn you about that bint? And did you listen? No.”

“He is not Fleur.”

“Is he not?” Ron began listing things off his fingers, “Blond. Beautiful. Ruthless. Manipulative. Political genius. Am I missing something?”

At the sight of Harry’s face, Ron softened his tone, “I apologize your highness, I have overstepped.”

Harry shook his head, “No. You know I always give you leave to speak freely to me.”

“You’re far too trusting. You want to believe the good in people, but some people just don’t have any good.”

 


	20. TWENTY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own anything. JK Rowling owns all Harry Potter-verse things and CS Pacat owns all Captive Prince-verse things. I've merely read both and decided they should collide. :)
> 
> Please forgive any spelling errors. I'm notoriously a fast typer and this has not been proofed by anyone other than myself. xx
> 
> \--
> 
> I cracked open a bottle of wine, so here's two uploads in one day.

Harry was home. Their armies had pushed south across the border and was now approaching a Gryffindor stronghold — Grimmauld Palace. Red and gold banners flooded the streets. People were rushing by to welcome home their prince. As the princes dismounted, they were greeted by the Head of Household — Dean Thomas. Harry was shown to his room and Malfoy was shown to the adjoining room; as ceremony dictated.

Tonight there would be a feast to celebrate their gains on the capitol and to introduce the faction leaders to the princes they would be fighting for. As Harry entered the main hall, he was greeted with quite the sight. Anyone who with military or political importance was in attendance. A great silence filled the large room as he came into view.

Immediately all the Gryffindors hit the floor. The only people not kneeling were Slytherins, who extended themselves in deep bows or low curtsies. Malfoy remained seated on one of the two thrones. Harry took the throne beside him. He gestured for everyone to rise.

“Thank you all for coming,” he spoke to the room, “You are here tonight because your kingdom needs your support. The usurper, Tom Riddle has fled into our great land. He has committed treason against his own country, has poisoned our king, and has aligned himself with my half-brother, Dudley. I call upon you to join me and our ally, the rightful heir of Slytherin to turn this traitor out.”

One of the faction leaders, Oliver Wood stepped forward, “There are rumors that you’ve taken the Slytherin prince to your bed. We want assurances that your priorities remain with Gryffindor.”

“What happens in my bed is not your concern.”

“If you’re in bed with Slytherin, it is our concern.”

Before Harry could answer, Malfoy had picked up the conversation, “It seems everyone wants to know,” he began unrolling the sleeve of his shirt to reveal the symbolic tribute of their union — the serpent and the lion winding and unwinding on their forearms. Grey eyes fixed themselves on Wood, “Let me see if I have this right. According to the rumors, I have let the man who killed my father bend me over.And then I went ahead and stood him up on the battlefield while sending my own men to die. But now we have matching tattoos.”

Spoken aloud, it made no sense. But then again, neither did the existence of someone like Malfoy. Wood blinked confusedly as if confunded, but thankfully, acquiesced. He knelt as a sign of his allegiance. The other faction leaders followed. The night was off to a good start.

 

* * *

 

 

Soon things got rowdy — as was typical in Gryffindor. But the firewhisky was flowing and his people were happy, so Harry did not complain. There was dancing and general merrymaking. Blaise was twirling a drunk Pansy. Harry had to stifle a laugh as he spotted a fumbling Ron trying to approach Hermione across the room. As the night drew to an end, he spotted Malfoy rising and exiting through a private doorway. He quickly followed. He found the blond standing alone in the dueling arena; his light hair a beacon for the moonlight streaming through the roof window. Malfoy had discarded his coat. His shirt was partially unbuttoned and his sleeves remained rolled.

“It is far more difficult than I thought to find somewhere to be alone,” Malfoy stated, turning to face Harry.

“I thought you might want someone to talk to.”

“Talk? You don’t want to talk to me. You want to fuck me.”

Harry blanched. It wasn’t a lie, “I don’t want to fight.”

“Don’t you? Look where we are,” Malfoy drew his wand.

Harry still refused, but the other prince had begun firing hexes at him. Harry knew Malfoy could fight — had seen him with Goyle and again with Umbridge. Harry also remembered that this was the same man who had tied him up in the dungeons, cut him open, and almost left him to die. He discarded his own jacket.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Harry started — narrowly blocking an inbound curse.

“Oh, that’s quite rich.”

It was evident the Slytherin was not going to stop. Harry went on the offense, but found that the blond was exceedingly good at defense. It was infuriating. Malfoy fought the way he talked — sneakily and with precision. Unlike other wizards Harry had faced, he did not fire curses blindly. Each spell was calculated and he moved with the ease of someone who was aware of his own strengths.

“Are the rumors about you greatly exaggerated? You know after you killed my father, I gathered all the information I could about you. I personally questioned every Slytherin who had been on the field at Beauxbatons. They all said one thing — even as a teenager, your magic was the most powerful thing they had ever witnessed. Now either they’ve all been Imperiused to stroke your ego or you’re _holding back_.”

Harry was holding back. It only served to aggravate the situation with Malfoy who had now resorted to Unforgivables, “ _Crucio_.”

Flashes of the dungeon came back to Harry. He had had enough. The torches lighting the arena began to flicker. Malfoy noticed. It gave Harry enough leeway to land a stunning curse.

“ _Crucio_ ,” Malfoy tried again.

Harry dodged that one and with a wave of his hand, the arena shook. The blond’s eyes widened in surprise, but he continued firing curses. Harry deflected them like it was child’s play. It was.

“ _Cruc—_ “

Harry didn’t even need to say anything. He held out his hand and wordlessly Malfoy’s wand went to it. Harry marched on the blond. Around them, the torches erupted — forming a circle of fire around them. The other prince had nowhere to go.

“Going to kill me like you killed my father?”

Harry said nothing. Malfoy charged at him. Even without his wand, he hadn’t intended to go quietly. The sheer force of Harry’s magic knocked him onto his back. Harry straddled him. The other man was still struggling. Harry pinned his wrists to the ground. He dismissed the circle of fire.

“Enough!” Harry stared down at him, “The rumors are not exaggerated. I never needed a wand. I could have killed you at any time. I didn’t.”

Malfoy glared up at him — venom in his eyes.

Harry continued, “You’re highly skilled with a wand. Better than almost anyone else I’ve ever faced off with. But if you had come looking for me, if you had come to seek your revenge, I would have _killed_ you. Is that what you wanted?”

“It’s better than being left behind!” the blond answered. And then more quietly, “He was all I had. And you took him from me.”

Harry took a deep breath, “The thing about Unforgivables is that you have to mean them,” with that he flipped them over so Malfoy was on top. Harry thrusted the other man’s wand back into his hand; his own hand encircling the Slytherin’s wrist. He pointed it at his own heart, “Go on then. I know which one you really want to use on me.”

Malfoy was breathing hard. Sweat had dampened his hair and made it stick to his face. His hand was shaking. Harry waited. Nothing happened. The other prince made a strangled noise in agitation. He stood in a huff and stormed off — leaving Harry on the floor; Harry— who wasn’t sure if his heart would ever stop racing.


	21. TWENTY-ONE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own anything. JK Rowling owns all Harry Potter-verse things and CS Pacat owns all Captive Prince-verse things. I've merely read both and decided they should collide. :)
> 
> Please forgive any spelling errors. I'm notoriously a fast typer and this has not been proofed by anyone other than myself. xx
> 
> \-- 
> 
> Harry getting some knowledge dropped on him by the women.

Harry was temporarily distracted from the Malfoy business by the arrival of Ron’s family. He had barely gone two steps out of his chambers when a gaggle of freckled redheads mobbed him. Bill and Charlie were shouting wildly. The twins, Fred and George, were thumping him on the back. Ginny looked like she was about to cry any minute.

“Give him some room!” Ron exclaimed.

“Lay off it Ron!” Fred retorted, “As I recall, you were in mourning for weeks!”

“Right,” George interrupted, “Fled the capitol immediately after the news. Was besides yourself.”

“Cried a bit too,” Charlie added.

“I did _not_ cry!” Ron countered, “There was sand in my eyes from the wind!”

“Honestly!” Ginny looped her arm through Harry’s and led him away from her brothers, “You can’t believe how happy we are,” then as if she realized something, she smacked him across the shoulder, “Why didn’t you _say_ anything!”

“Ow!” Harry responded, “What was I suppose to do? Send an owl from Slytherin? Dear Ginny, my brother and my lover betrayed me and shipped me off to the enemy kingdom because they’re plotting to take my throne. Please send assistance at your earliest convenience.”

Ginny looked at him teary-eyed and sprang into his arms, “Oh Harry! We’ve missed you so,” and then more gravely, “There is something you should know. Ron fled the capitol too quickly, so he wouldn’t have known but —“ she paused as if to find the right words, “Fleur is with child.”

 _Pregnant._ She was pregnant with Dudley’s child — the bastard of a bastard that she intended to raise as the heir. She had all her corners covered. Harry tried to imagine her last. She must have already been a few months into her pregnancy. It explained why they hadn’t been intimate the few months before the incident in the bath hall. She had complained she wasn’t feeling well. He had assumed she’d taken ill.

Harry peered down at Ginny, “Serves me right. I should have married you.”

Ginny shook her head, “You know I could never be queen. You deserve someone who not only could bear the weight of a crown, but would never feel like you were the only reason they had it.”

They stayed like that for awhile — Ginny, soft and warm in his arms. For a minute, Harry could forget that he was a prince, that he was fighting for this throne, and that he was in love with a certain grey-eyed blond. Until he opened his eyes again and spotted the same blond coming down the hallway. Malfoy looked every bit like someone who knew he was intruding. He tipped his head up, straightened his back, and marched on past them.

 

* * *

 

 

In an effort to distract himself, Harry threw himself into his work. He trained all day with his men until he was exhausted and sore. It allowed him to fall asleep without the assistance of sleeping draught. When there was free time, he spent it pouring over route maps and devising tactical strategies. On one particular evening, he was closely examining a report from one of his faction leaders when the herald made a strange announcement, “Your highness, there are a group of ladies outside who request an audience with you.”

“Who is it?”

“The Lady Ginevra of House Weasley, the Lady Pansy of House Parkinson of Slytherin, and Hermione Granger and Luna Lovegood of the Forbidden Forest.”

 _Bloody hell_. “Let them in.” As the women entered, Harry wiped his glasses on his tunic to make sure he wasn’t imagining things, but alas, he was in fact being accosted by all the women of the alliance.

Luna led the way — carrying a tray of teacups. She set them down on the nearby table, “We thought you might like some tea.” Tea? Tea would be nice. Harry rose from his desk and took a seat at the table. He conjured up four chairs and beckoned the women to be seated. They all sipped on their teas in silence; the women exchanging furtive glances with each other. It made Harry nervous.

“Can I assist you ladies on a matter?” he asked.

“We’re worried about you, Harry,” Ginny began, “The ladies here have been kind enough to fill me in on your predicament.”

“If this is about Dudley and Fleur, I assure you it will be taken care of.”

“We’re not here about the usurper and his whore,” Pansy interjected, but then apologized, “Apologies, your highness. We’re here about a different blond.”

Luna spoke next, “I’m not from this world Harry, so the politics of it all did confuse me; but I do know you have been a bit… _off_ lately.”

Yes, _off_ since his encounter with Malfoy in the dueling arena. Neither one has spoken to each other since outside of the necessary formalities in front of their men. Maybe their armies had noticed the divide.

“Is this about the alliance?” Harry asked, “Are the men having doubts?”

“No not all,” Hermione assured him, “But they haven’t seen your entire relationship unfold have they?”

The conversation went back to Pansy, “I know Draco can be a bit… _much_. But I’ve never seen him trust anyone other than myself before. But I know he trusts you. No matter what has happened, that hasn’t changed.”

“He hates me,” Harry admonished, “He wants nothing to do with me. I waited for him at Hogwarts. He never came.”

The women sighed collectively. Harry felt like he was missing something — some secret female code he wasn’t privy to.

“Perhaps he meant to meet you, but he was detained,” Pansy explained from behind her teacup.

“Detained? I don’t understand.”

“Perhaps a conversation with Councillor Pettigrew might shed some light on the situation,” Hermione said knowingly.

“Pettigrew?”

“Yes, they ran into each other on the way. Or so I’ve heard,” Luna stated.

“Heard? From who?”

“Flint is a Dominant Male,” she said plainly, “I may have overheard him speaking about it to someone one night when I—“

Harry held up a hand, “I get the picture.”

“Perhaps things are not as they seem,” Ginny finished, “Perhaps the truth might help you put things into perspective.”

Harry felt a headache coming on. He stood, “Thank you ladies. That was very…informative.” It seemed one thing was clear; he had to find Pettigrew.

 


	22. TWENTY-TWO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own anything. JK Rowling owns all Harry Potter-verse things and CS Pacat owns all Captive Prince-verse things. I've merely read both and decided they should collide. :)
> 
> Please forgive any spelling errors. I'm notoriously a fast typer and this has not been proofed by anyone other than myself. xx
> 
> \--  
> Sorry, a quick one! It's been a chaotic week for me, but I'll make it up to you this weekend <3

Harry was tired of this Slytherin double talk. Why can’t anyone from this damn kingdom say what they mean and mean what they say? He was two steps away from casting the Imperius on Pettigrew when he remembered the small vial of Veritaserum he had swiped from Snape still in his coat pocket. He forcefully shoved it down the bound Councillor’s throat.

“What happened to the prince on his way to Hufflepuff?” Harry demanded for the umpteenth time.

“We ambushed him and his men.”

“We?”

“Goyle and I. Mainly Goyle.”

“Did you intend to kill him?”

“Not I. Goyle, yes.”

“What were your intentions?”

“To bring him to Lord Riddle to curry favor.”

“Why didn’t Goyle succeed?”

“The prince killed him.”

“Did Tom know who I was?”

“Yes.”

“Did you?”

“No.”

“Did the prince?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why was I sent to Slytherin?”

“You were meant to be a wild card. Either the prince would know who you were and it would cause him to overreact, giving Lord Riddle the upper hand or he would not know, and unwittingly fall in love with you.”

After Harry freed and obliviated him, he returned to his own room. He still couldn’t make sense of any of it. If anything, it left him with even more questions. Either Malfoy knew who he was and played the long con — in that case, he was one diabolical son of a bitch; a man would have had to have a heart of ice to knowingly fuck his father’s killer in exchange for a military alliance — or Malfoy had not known and Harry had stupidly played them both into the Regent’s hands. And then the blond had every right to read as he did. But Harry had no time to fume as he was due for battle. The next advance toward the capitol was happening today. He shoved his personal feelings aside and prepared to fly.

 

* * *

 

 

It was not a difficult battle to wage moving south. Even a blind man could see that their armies performed better united. Ron, Neville, and Seamus were experienced commanders and on the other side the same could be said of Blaise and Flint. Durmstrang fell in a heartbeat. It was Ron who led the way through the now emptied castle. It wasn’t until they reached a gilded locked door that Harry felt something must be amiss.

“Stand back!” he warned the others before, “ _Alohomora_!”

The locks clicked open and there, reclining casually on a velvet chaise was a face that haunted his dreams. Her long, golden hair was braided and piled atop her head — mirroring a crown. Her face was flushed, her lips painted red, and she eyed him levelly as she said, “Hello lover.”

“ _Fleur,_ ” Harry acknowledged. Behind him, Ron made a choking noise. Parts of her gown were covered in blood. She was flanked on all sides by her ladies-in-waiting. A midwife stood nearby. Even in the aftermath of childbirth, she was still beautiful. It pained him to look at her.

“Where is the child?” he demanded.

“You’re too late,” she smiled defiantly, “Tom’s taken him.”

Harry turned to a nearby soldier, “Take her to the North Tower.” He pulled Ron aside, “Make sure no one speaks to her. That woman has a tongue that could rival, well, _you know_. Give her the comforts she’s accustomed to, but do _not_ post anyone near her that would be susceptible to her manipulations.”

Ron nodded, “Hermione and Luna it is then.”

Harry dismissed the rest of his army to their corresponding posts before collapsing on the same chaise, shaken. He had not been prepared to see her here; though it made sense. Dudley had probably sent her away from the capitol knowing Harry would fly to it. He hadn’t counted on Harry taking a detour through the countryside. His hands were balled into fists. There were so many things he wanted to ask her. _How long were you involved with Dudley? What is the extent of Tom’s involvement? Did you ever love me?_ And yet he couldn’t bear to face her. Even as he hated her, even as he wanted answers, he knew that given the chance — she could easily manipulate him. _This moment_ , this was what she had fucked him for. He looked up to see Malfoy watching him. Harry was not in the mood.

He stood up abruptly and brushed past the other prince, “Whatever you’ve got to say about this — save it.” He didn’t need anymore lies. One Fleur was enough.


	23. TWENTY-THREE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I do not own anything. JK Rowling owns all Harry Potter-verse things and CS Pacat owns all Captive Prince-verse things. I've merely read both and decided they should collide. :)
> 
> Please forgive any spelling errors. I'm notoriously a fast typer and this has not been proofed by anyone other than myself. xx
> 
> \--
> 
> MALFOY v. DELACOUR | btw, the Fleur in my head looks like [Line Brems](https://www.instagram.com/p/BKTVrjDAkAG/?taken-by=lineobrems&hl=en)

Every day without fail one of Harry’s men came to report that Fleur had requested an audience with him. And every single time, without fail, Harry had denied it. So it was no surprise that when Neville bursted into his chambers, Harry didn’t even bother looking up from his maps.

“Your highness—“

Harry held up a hand, “If this is about Fleur, the answer is no.”

Neville cleared his throat. Harry looked up. “Your highness, the Prince of Slytherin has gone to see the Lady Fleur and has dismissed all the guards assigned to the North Tower.”

“Wha--Thank you, Neville.”

What is Godric’s good name was going on? Malfoy was up to something. Harry needed to find out what. He reached for his father’s invisibility cloak and braced himself for the storm.

 

* * *

 

 

As he ascended the steps to the North Tower, Harry could feel his pulse rising. He was torn between anger and curiosity. Neither did him any good. As he approached the main entrance, he saw them — Fleur reclining on a chair as if it were a throne and Malfoy peering through the glass wall at her. As he approached it, she stood to receive him. Her hair hung in a long braid down her right side. She wore a gown of white gossamer silk. It rustled as she walk. Malfoy was entirely buttoned up in his usual black. As Fleur took her place in front of the glass, Harry had to bite his lip from gasping. The sight of the two of them together was unnerving — so similar were their coloring, their cool poised stances, and their schooled masks of indifference that it made Harry question his choices in bed partners.

“So Harry has sent his rent boy,” she offered the Slytherin prince a sly smile, “Must be the blonde hair.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“I know the rumors. Draco Malfoy, the Ice Prince of Slytherin — a man so cold he fucked his father’s killer for a military alliance. I bet we could count the number of times you’ve even had sex on one hand. I bet you had considered it a brute physical act, maybe that’s how you justified it to yourself, but we both know that’s not how it is with Harry,” she edged closed to the glass, “He took you slow. He made you want it. He made you want him.”

“Do please continue.”

“So you closed your eyes and pretended — that he was just a slave. Anyone but Harry Potter of Gryffindor. You swore on your father’s deathbed that you’d avenge him. That you’d hate all Gryffindors until you died, but you took one to bed didn’t you? But that’s not even the worst part, you fell in love with him. Why else would you be standing here?”

Harry tried to move closer; tried to get any angle other than Malfoy’s back.

“The alliance,” Malfoy seemed completely calm.

“You’re lying to yourself.

“No, that’s your folly. You’re alone. Your lover, the bastard usurper, has abandoned you. Tom has your child. You have nothing and no one. You’re barely hanging onto your life.”

She threw back her head and laughed, “Power is wasted on men like you. You never wanted to be king, did you? But you’re the only heir.You should consider yourself lucky your father never saw the man you became — weak and nothing more than a fuck boy for a Gryffindor.”

“And I suppose you think power belongs to someone like you? A low-born of no wealth and a fledging title to your name? Tell me, did your family have to pawn the entirety of their possessions to afford you the opportunity to prostitute yourself to the crown prince and his bastard brother?”

They were both so close to the glass, they could have kissed. Harry shoved away the visage.

“Oh have we gone past the small talk? Good, let’s get to why you’re here. I have something Harry wants. You will garner me safe passage to the capitol where I will return to Dudley’s side in exchange for it.”

“You have nothing he wants. He will never see you again. He will take the capitol, reclaim his throne, and you will be executed for treason,” Malfoy backed away from the glass. He was set to leave.

“You haven’t even asked me what it is. Don’t you want to know what you’re playing for?” Fleur had returned to her chair, “The child was a boy you know, a son.”

“And what importance does the bastard of a bastard have on anything?”

“He may be a bastard, but he looks just like his father — especially those big, beautiful green eyes.”

Harry couldn’t breathe. He was a father. He had a son. He had an _heir_. He looked up to see Malfoy experiencing a similar reaction of shock and horror.

“You gave the child to Tom,” the Slytherin accused.

“He was my only leverage. You think I would keep him here? Now tell Harry I want to see him. You’re dismissed.”


	24. TWENTY-FOUR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own anything. JK Rowling owns all Harry Potter-verse things and CS Pacat owns all Captive Prince-verse things. I've merely read both and decided they should collide. :)
> 
> Please forgive any spelling errors. I'm notoriously a fast typer and this has not been proofed by anyone other than myself. xx
> 
> \--
> 
> Mood Music:  
> When Harry leaves the tower, it's playing Hero - Regina Spektor // the rest of the scene, it's playing Sound Of Your Heart - Shawn Hook.

Malfoy had seen him. Harry knew it. In his shock, he had not been careful with the invisibility cloak. Then there were his thundering footsteps as he raced down from the tower. He had rushed to his room and ordered his guards that he was not to be disturbed. But alas, there was one person whom that would not apply to. Because there was Malfoy, standing in the doorway.

“Go ahead, call me a fool,” Harry sighed.

“I’m not here for that.”

“Why did you see her?”

“Because you could not.”

The other prince crossed the room and Harry felt a hand on his shoulder. It was a rare moment from a man who rarely ever showed affection. Malfoy sat down beside him.

“Why are you here? You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you. I did. Before. I wanted to kill you. I would have if it weren’t for Tom. But then you saved me from the fiendfyre and I didn’t understand it. And every time after that. But then I realized, it was who you are. You were born a hero.”

“I’m not a hero. Just lucky. That day that I killed your father, that was luck. My magic saved me.” There it was, spoken aloud. Harry waited for what seemed like an eternity. When the blond didn’t say anything, Harry began again, “Why did you lie about Hogwarts? I know you were detained. I know you meant to meet me.”

“Remind me to obliviate Pansy after I tell her anything,” then more seriously, “You were going to leave me. I left you a slave. Had I shown up on that field, I would have been meeting the Prince of Gryffindor. I couldn’t reconcile the _idea_ of you with who you really were.”

“If it weren’t for our complicated history, would I have been such a terrible prospect? Or would you rather have married Prince Cedric of Hufflepuff?”

The other prince rolled his eyes, “Salazar, not him,” and then, “After everything I’ve done to you, how can you still…feel what you feel? Even more so, after Dudley and Fleur — how can you trust me?”

“ _Because I didn’t know them. I thought I did, but I was wrong. But I know you. You pulled Flint out of an orphanage. You saved Blaise and his family from ruins. You saw Theodore as a brother, I know it. You’re so damn gentle with Pansy. You’re kind to your aunt. And you’re the man I love._ ” Parseltongue.

Malfoy stared back at him, eyes-wide; clearly he hadn’t expected Harry to be so frank. He flushed, “You wear your heart on your sleeve, Harry Potter.”

“And I suppose your heart is hidden in a box somewhere for safe keeping.”

The blond shook his head, “No, it’s in your hands.”

The exhilaration of that statement hit Harry like a bludger. Now it was him who was wholly unprepared. Luckily, his next move was already dictated.

“ _Kiss me, Harry_.” And what could Harry do, but comply? He played it over and over in his head again; his name — soft, spoken as a pleading whisper. When they parted, the other prince spoke again, “The last time — I, It had been a long time since — I don’t ever, really—“ Harry waited patiently, “You, in this capacity, make me nervous.”

Harry smiled, “Draco, it’s okay.” He thought now was an appropriate time to be on a first name basis, “I won’t hurt you,” and then as if understanding the gravity of what he had just said, “I know that I did, before I even met you—“

“We don’t need to do this—“

“It must have been hard to lose him—“

“That’s enough.”

Harry nodded, “My first time was with Ginny. I was so nervous, I was afraid I wasn’t going to be able to get it up.”

“I find that hard to believe — No, I don’t. She looks like the female version of your lead commander,” Draco shuddered, “No one would have blamed you.”

Harry moved in again, “I’m Harry Potter of Gryffindor. You’re Draco Malfoy of Slytherin. This is the line, if we cross it — there’s no going back.”

They crossed it. Harry pushed him down on the bed, positioned himself on top. Draco was still muttering his name in his ear — his _name_. He wanted him, knowing who he was. There were no lies now, nothing between them. Truthfully, nothing at all — as Harry vanished their clothes. Draco had one hand in Harry’s hair, the other around him, their lips never separating; tongues constructing a new language. Harry moved his mouth to the other man's neck; sucking softly -- eliciting even softer moans. 

As Harry leaned over him, the blond prince traced the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. Then slowly, pushed up to kiss it. It was his way to say it, Harry knew. _I forgive you._ His mouth returned to Harry’s. There was a desperation in them both. It was Draco’s turn to push him.

“I want to—Don’t touch me while—,” the other man ordered and then his mouth was on Harry’s cock. Harry was quite certain the world had stopped. It seemed unfathomable that the Ice Prince of Slytherin was indeed kneeling beside him with his cock in his mouth. The blond stared up at Harry with darkened eyes, his mouth entirely full.

“Draco,” Harry groaned. All his focus was in heeding the other man’s words. His palms remained flat on the bed; he was fighting the urge to thrust up. Those grey eyes lowered and the other prince was back to his task. His hands glided with his mouth in a familiar rhythm. The tension was building. Harry could feel his body gearing up for it. He felt Draco’s tongue swirling around the head and the prodding of a finger at his entrance. The same finger was finding its way to his prostrate. It was there. Harry took one last look at those pink lips wrapped around him and that was all it took. And as the other prince took his cock down in one final slide, Harry came.

When he recovered, Draco was blinking down at him, “Was that all right?” He asked breathlessly.

“That was brilliant,” and Harry kissed him. And he could feel the other’s surprise — clearly the blond hadn’t anticipated being kissed after. Harry didn’t care. His own hand trailed down the silk-like skin until he was palming Draco’s still-erect cock.

“ _Please_ ,” there was a tight whisper in his ear. Harry nestled back into the bed — pulling the other prince with him. Casting a lubrication spell on himself, he edged two fingers in to make way; a third when it was time. Draco’s eyes followed Harry’s hand; one of his own hands gliding down himself.

“I’ve never done it this way,” the other prince confessed.

“Me neither. Guess you’ll be my first,” Harry smiled and removed his hand.

The blond angled himself accordingly and Harry felt his body opening up. Green eyes remained locked on grey. He groaned again as the other man pushed into him — buried to the hilt inside his aching, wanting body. The action repeated and Harry felt as if he was standing on the edge of every precipice, staring into the eye of every storm.

“Harry,” it was Draco, panting heavily — head lowered beside him, mouth on his neck, Harry’s name on his tongue. Harry moved one leg closer to his chest; felt the change in position allowing for easier access to his prostate.

“ _Merlin_ ,” he cried, “There.”

He moved with the other prince — pushing up to meet every thrust. His previously spent arousal was back in full, demanding force. Harry dropped a hand to himself; gripping it tightly and roughly—his thumb pressing on the head, “Faster,” he breathed. Draco didn’t need to be told twice. HIs pupils were already blown, his breaths were already short, he was near close to exertion. “ _Harry_ ,” he said again and he was gone. Harry followed after.

In the aftermath of their love-making, they laid side by side; their tattooed arms between them.

It was Draco who spoke first, “I always thought I’d face Tom alone.”

Harry’s hand reached for his, “You’ll never be alone again.”


	25. TWENTY-FIVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own anything. JK Rowling owns all Harry Potter-verse things and CS Pacat owns all Captive Prince-verse things. I've merely read both and decided they should collide. :)
> 
> Please forgive any spelling errors. I'm notoriously a fast typer and this has not been proofed by anyone other than myself. xx
> 
> \--
> 
> GAH! So close to the end.

When Harry and Draco arrived at their tactical meeting the next morning, it was clear to everyone exactly what had transpired. The former’s hair looked even worse for the wear and the latter looked like a freshly fucked virgin. Harry could hear Pansy fussing with the other prince in the corner.

“Honestly Draco! I know you’re pants at glamours, but could you _try_?” She was referring to the marks on his neck. Harry was pleased with himself.

Blaise had the look of a man who had seen too much and cleared his throat awkwardly. Smith arched an eyebrow. Luna offered him a wink before turning to Ginny and giggling. Ron was mortified. Hermione smiled warmly and touched his arm, “Don’t mind them. We’re happy for you Harry.”

In regards to Fleur, there was not much room for negotiation — not when there was a child involved; _his_ child. An exchange had to be made: her for his son. So it was decided then that Harry and Draco would be accompanied by a trusted few in delivering Fleur for the exchange. This included Ron, Blaise, Snape, Hermione, and Pettigrew. Harry had an inkling the latter was being brought as a bargaining tool and not as a part of the defense strategy. They would all be disguised as traveling merchants. Neville, Seamus, Flint, and Luna would lead the rest of the army on the capitol in a stealth invasion.

Harry would be discarding his prince’s tunic for the simple clothes of a working man. He sat with Ron as the other man went over the details of their plan one more time.

“Now we’ll follow the river down and—“ Ron was speaking, but Harry as not listening because Draco had disappeared earlier and remerged in something other than his usual black. Instead he was wearing color; and not just any color, Gryffindor scarlet. Harry gaped.

“Your highness—“ Ron interjected.

Harry continued to stare.

“Your majesty—“

It was so bright. It was alarming.

“Sir—“

Harry wiped his glasses. Nope, still scarlet.

“HARRY!”

Harry whipped his head around, “I’m listening, Ron.” Ron threw his hands up in exasperation. Harry turned back to Draco, “You’re in Gryffindor colors.”

“Everyone is in Gryffindor colors. We’re supposed to be Gryffindor merchants.”

Right then, time to fly out.

 

* * *

 

 

Their traveling caravan was halted at the first check point. A convoy of guards had surrounded them mid-air and forced them to land. While they had all ingested Snape’s modified Polyjuice, there were still many avenues in which the plan could fail. The biggest wild card was Fleur herself.

“State your business,” the guard pressed.

“We are a group of merchants escorting the Lady Fleur back to the capitol.”

“There were reports that the Lady Fleur is being held prisoner at Durmstrang.”

“That is incorrect. She is inside the caravan,” Harry pointed at the large floating trailer that was hitched to two hippogriffs.

“If that’s true then I’m sure you won’t mind if I take a look.”

“I won’t, but she will. She had orders not to be disturbed.”

“I’m afraid, I must insist.” The guard was already heading towards the trailer. Harry saw Ron reach for his wand. Blaise and Hermione was looking at him, waiting for a command. He could feel the whole thing unraveling around him.

“ _Alohomora_ ,” the guard pointed his wand at the door of the trailer and it sprung open. Harry followed quickly, but immediately discovered that his fears were unfounded. The guard hurriedly retreated and bowed, “My humblest apologies — the Lady Fleur is indeed welcome to go as she pleases. I will alert the other checkpoints of her travel plans, so you will not be stopped again,” and with that he dispatched his patronus.

Harry waited until they were well out of sight before landing again. The door of the trailer swung open and Draco emerged wearing a blue shawl wrapped around his entire self. Only a few strands of his hair and his eyes were visible. He had taken on the same Polyjuice form as he had in Knockturn Alley. In the darkness of the entryway, the mousy color of his hair could easily have passed for Fleur’s golden blonde and his now blue eyes were an exact match. He dissolved his concealment charm and there was Fleur — bound and gagged, still in the trailer.

Ron was bug-eyed. Harry clapped him on the back solidly, “Just don’t think about it.”

 

* * *

 

 

Harry knew they had to move fast. It wouldn’t be long before the other checkpoints realize they would not be receiving Fleur Delacour. Their small group was not going to the capitol. The meeting place of the exchange was at magical safe haven — The Ministry of Magic. It was a place where no spells could be fired, no wands could be brandished, and no lives could be taken. Centuries of warring kingdoms have met at this sacred place in order to broker peace. Harry was not the first prince to seek it out; he would not be the last.

But as luck would have it, one of the hippogriffs attached to the trailer had spooked during a thunderstorm. She rampaged wildly and it took both Blaise and Ron to rein her under control, but not before she knocked into Snape’s traveling laboratory, destroying the rest of the Polyjuice supply and injuring herself.

“Suppose we could levitate the trailer?” Blaise wondered.

“It’s far too large,” Harry noted, “And you’d have to do it the whole time while flying. We still have a ways to go.”

In the distance, they could hear the rushing of the wind, the roar of the thunder, and the sound of men cursing. Harry saw flashes of red and gold when lightning struck. But these were not his soldiers; they were Dudley’s.

“Harry, we have to conceal the trailer—“ Hermione began, but stopped to stare at Draco. The blond prince was shooting red sparks into the sky. Harry was going to wring his neck. They had been seen and the clock had run out on their Polyjuice with no replenishment available. The soldiers landed next to them.

The blond prince rushed over, “Thank you for stopping! We are in dire need of your assistance. We are merchants delivering product to the capitol and our hippogriff spooked during the storm.”

The lead office regarded him warily and then his eyes found Harry, “You look a bit familiar. What’s your name?”

“Albus Dumbledore,” Harry announced. It was the only merchant he knew personally.

“You’re Albus Dumbledore — world-renown sweets peddler?”

Draco interrupted, “Don’t be daft. That’s my assistant Henry. He’s a bit slow. Barely literate and just likes to repeat things. I’m Albus Dumbledore.”

“We’re looking for Harry Potter.”

“Potter? Never heard of him.”

“Harry Potter is Dudley’s brother,” Harry found himself answering.

“Be quiet, Henry. Everyone knows the king’s brother is dead. See how slow he is? I deeply apologize for his foolishness.”

The officer nodded, “That was once the consensus, but it appears he may be alive. We have a calming draught for your hippogriff. You can unhook her from the trailer. My men will assist you in levitating it to the next rest stop.”

Again, Ron was staring with his mouth open. Harry elbowed him sharply.

“We’re very grateful for your help,” Draco nodded enthusiastically.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry was on pins and needles. The other prince looked as calm as if he had just woken up from a long nap. It was baffling. The nearest rest stop was a local tavern. The officers insisted on escorting them inside. They were introduced as Albus Dumbledore and company.

A man sauntered forth and eyed them suspiciously, “What’s this then? That’s not Albus. He’s already here. Bought some sherbet lemon from him not an hour ago.”

Harry looked at Draco, dumbfounded. The blond seemed unconcerned, “Who is this imposter? Bring him out here at once!”

The real Albus Dumbledore emerged from the back. He looked from Harry to Draco before shouting, “Albus!”

“What a minute!” the office called, “If he’s Albus, then who’s that?”

“No, he’s Albus,” the man from earlier insisted and pointed at the bearded old man, “I’ve been buying from him for a long time.”

“Yes, I am Albus,” Dumbledore clarified, “He is Albus. We are both Albus. He is my great-nephew. We were both named after the founding member of the Dumbledore line, Albus Dumbledore the first.” Everyone stared.

When the officers had dispensed of their suspicions and confusion, Dumbledore gave them all a twinkling look, “I’ll always keep your secrets, your highness,” and then removed his hat in a deep bow.

 

* * *

 

 

As Harry slept that night, Draco made his way to the trailer. He dismissed Blaise, lowered the wards, and flung the door open. The noise roused Fleur from her sleep. She pushed herself up from the bed and gazed at him, bored. If she had any fears concerning her life, it did not show. But then again, it was not expected to from someone like her.

“In addition to this abhorrent trailer, am I not to have any sleep at all then?”

Draco held his hands up in a gesture of peace, “I have removed the wards.”

Suspicion crossed her face and then she gingerly stood. She exited the trailer without difficulty and stood facing him, “So while Harry sleeps, you plot. Predictable.”

“You should know,” and then, “I’m sure you know the lay of the land well enough. You will apparate out of here and you will never return. The child, whether it’s Harry’s or not, you will not make an effort to see him again.”

She met his stare, “You underestimate me.”

“Do I? I think not. It’s no secret we’re alike, but our similarities don’t begin and end with the physical,” a pause, “You love him. Still.”

She inhaled sharply, “I should have let him die.”

“But we both know you couldn’t. You knew what was coming. You saw it unfold. You knew the price of power. But you couldn’t fully pay it — not with Harry’s life. So you had him sent to me.”

She walked past him and turned, “The only difference between us is you chose love.” And with a pop, she disappeared.


	26. TWENTY-SIX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own anything. JK Rowling owns all Harry Potter-verse things and CS Pacat owns all Captive Prince-verse things. I've merely read both and decided they should collide. :)
> 
> Please forgive any spelling errors. I'm notoriously a fast typer and this has not been proofed by anyone other than myself. xx

Harry had been persuaded to leave Fleur in her trailer until the negotiations were finished. The trailer would remain under guard by everyone else while the two princes entered the Ministry alone. Above the entrance hung the portraits of the first rulers of each of the four kingdoms. Harry knelt on one knee before Godric Gryffindor and Draco did the same before Salazar Slytherin.

“No violence is tolerated inside the Ministry. All those who enter must pledge accordingly. If you draw your wand and break the peace, you will be subjected to the justice of the Ministry. Do you accept?” the portraits asked.

“I do,” Harry rose. “I do,” Draco echoed and rose after. And the portraits swung open to make way.

Harry had only been here once before — with his father, after the Battle of Beauxbatons. King James had held council here to accept the terms of the Slytherin surrender. Startled, Harry realized Draco and Tom, as Regent, must have been here during the same time. And now they have come full circle. They followed the lit torches alongside the corridor before the hallway emptied into an expansive marble room. The ceiling was almost entirely glass and light poured in from above.

Draco reached for his hand, “No matter what happens, Tom won’t hurt the child. Not while he needs leverage over you. And I promise you, I won’t let him hurt you.”

Harry squeezed in return.

“Well isn’t this touching?” It was the Regent. Tom was walking slowly towards them, alone. Harry willed himself not to reach for his wand. “Draco, you are twenty now. These teenage antics of yours are not suitable for the interests of your kingdom.”

“I’m not the one who killed his child lover in a fit of rage.”

“Theo? It was you who killed him. You filled his head with foolish notions of treason and political plots. What else would you have me do?” Tom’s gaze flew to Harry, “I’m sure he’s done the same to you.”

Harry stared him down, “He only speaks the truth. We’re here united. Everyone in the four kingdoms knows of your treachery. You’re grasping at straws.”

“United, hm?” the Regent glanced down at their joined hands, “Unfortunately Draco here has not informed you of his other plans. He knows I have no use for the whore. He’s probably already freed her. He’s here to give himself up for your son.”

“You’re lying.”

“Am I?”

Harry turned to the other prince, “Tell him he’s _lying_.” The blond didn’t answer — his silence a louder admission than anything that had been said. Harry released his hand, “No.”

“Find some solace in that he did it for you. But that’s the thing about choosing love over power. _You lose_.”

When Draco spoke, his voice was shaky, “Harry, you need to leave.”

“No.”

“This is not up for discussion, _leave_.”

“I’m not leaving you here with him.”

Tom was smirking, “Oh Draco, you haven’t told him?”

“Get out, Harry.”

Harry looked from Tom to Draco and back in complete bewilderment, “Tell me what?”

“ _Harry, please_.” The other prince was pleading now.

Tom came closer, as if they were three schoolmates having a chat. Harry watched as the Regent reached out and caressed Draco’s face like a lover, “Who came before.”

It sunk in all at once. Draco had turned the same color as the marble; shame coating every feature of his aristocratic face. Harry stumbled back as if struck.

“He was so lonely after his father died. And who could resist a face like that?”

Harry didn’t think, he just reacted. His wand was in his hand before he even realized it. Then his hand was raised — an Unforgivable on his lips. The walls shook and there was a blinding light. Harry was on the floor. He couldn’t move. A loud, booming voice echoed in the room, “ _Harry Potter of Gryffindor. You have drawn your wand in this sacred place._ ”

Harry didn’t care. He fixed his eyes on Tom, “I’m going to kill you. You’re never going to touch him again.”

The voice continued, “ _You have broken the peace._ ”

“He was _fourteen_! You vile, disgusting, traitorous—“

“ _Your justice will be swift and in accordance to the laws of the Ministry. Your fate will be determined by the one who your assault was intended for_.”

Tom was standing above him, “The price for your stupidity is death.”

“No!” It was Draco, “Stop, please. It’s me you want. I’ll come with you to the capitol. I’ll stand trial for treason. _Please, Tom_.” His voice sounded tight and small.

“On your knees,” Tom ordered.

The blond hung his head and knelt, “Please, Tom. _Please_.”

“Very well then, since you asked so nicely,” the Regent sneered.

The walls shook again and the voice spoke once more, “ _Lord Riddle, Regent of Slytherin, has spoken_.”

Harry watched in horror as Tom seized the other prince by the arm and disapparated — leaving Harry alone on the marble floor.

 

* * *

 

 

It was nightfall when Harry made it back to the camp. It was Ron who spotted him first — running up with the others in tow. He caught Harry when he stumbled.

“Where is the prince?”

“The Regent took him.”

Blaise pushed Ron aside, “You _left_ _him_ with that bastard?” Blaise had his wand out, “You left him to _die_! You—“ He didn’t finish his statement. Ron had hauled him off, “You will _not_ speak that way to the prince. You will calm down.”

Harry held up a hand, “No. Let him go. You would have reacted the same way if it was me.”

“If it was the other way, he wouldn’t have left you,” Blaise spat.

“Stop it!” It was Hermione, “We’re not doing any good screaming at each other.” She approached Harry, who now unsupported by Ron, looked like he was going to fall over any minute. She took his face in her hands, “Harry, focus. I know it’s hard right now. What can we do?”

 _Nothing_ , Harry thought. They could do nothing. Harry’s own life was useless as a bargaining tool. Tom had the only thing he needed. He was going to be king. He was going to get away with everything. Harry felt sick.

“We can fly to the capitol,” Blaise began, “The army should be approaching.”

“We can get there, but it could take _days_ to break into the capitol,” Ron admitted, “We might not have that kind of time.”

Harry pushed Hermione’s hands away, “You’re right. We don’t have time. And we can’t fight our way in that quickly. Take everyone and join the others — send word to Neville and Flint that you’re coming.”

“Harry! What are you going to do?” Hermione demanded.

But Harry wasn’t listening. He raced forward and dragged Pettigrew out of his tent, “You’re coming with me.” And they disapparated.

 

* * *

 

 

They appeared outside the capitol gates. Harry threw his invisibility cloak over them both and together they snuck into the city. It wasn’t long before they arrived at the footsteps of Privet Palace. Harry’s heart was pounding. He threw off the cloak. Pettigrew balked at the absence of their concealment. Harry ignored it. He began walking up the steps. The guards were regarding him wearily. Eyes began to widen. Whispers were mounting, _it’s him_. It wasn’t long before all of them had their wands pointed at him.

Harry stood with his back straight, his head high, “I’m Harry Potter of Gryffindor. I’m here to surrender.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's only one chapter left! :X


	27. TWENTY-SEVEN

Harry was placed in a holding cell for two days before being brought to the trial. It was held in the throne room. To the left were seated all fifty members of the Wizenmagot. To the right were two twin thrones — Dudley on the left, Tom on the right. Soldiers lined all the walls. Harry squinted at Dudley. Even to an outsider it was clear who was pulling the strings here. The man who had staked a claim to the Gryffindor throne looked bored and unimpressed. The man who had staked a claim to the Slytherin throne looked practically gleeful.

There, shackled and seated before the council was Draco. He was still wearing Gryffindor scarlet. It was clear the trial had been an ongoing process. His blond hair was mussed, his clothes haphazard, and there were dark circles under his eyes; but he was alive. Thank Merlin. Harry was being pushed forward — into the room. All eyes immediately shifted to him including a pair of grey ones, which broadened into shock.

“No!” Draco cried and turned to Tom, “You said you were going to spare him!”

“And I did,” the Regent replied, “Pity that he had mistaken foolishness for bravery,” and then to the Wizenmagot, “This is Harry Potter of Gryffindor, the wizard responsible for our late King Lucius’s death. He also poisoned his father, tried to blame his brother, faked his own death to escape, and have coerced our dear prince into treason.”

All fifty members burst into loud whispering. The Chief Warlock banged his gavel, “Silence!”

Tom continued speaking, “We have heard the evidence of the prince’s treason. Now we have the biggest piece of all — clear and irrefutable, here stands his Gryffindor lover. They were in collusion together,” he stepped off his throne and approached the other prince, “Draco, I have raised you since your father passed. In my heart, I cannot believe you would have had the audacity to do these things if you were not forced. Tell us, were you coerced by Harry Potter? Perhaps there was a love potion? Maybe you were Imperiused?”

When Draco spoke, each word was grounded out, “I was not forced to do anything. I love him.”

The entire room erupted into chatter once more. More gavel banging. The blond was not finished, “He’s the rightful king of Gryffindor not only because of his birthright, but because he’s a good man and a good leader. He is _innocent_. It was me. It was I who coerced and manipulated.”

Harry’s heart was aching. Even now, Draco was throwing himself in the line of fire for him. He stepped forth, “You will hear me unless you fear the truth!”

The Chief Warlock banged his gavel for the third time, “Order! We will hear all testimonies.”

Harry swallowed audibly. He knew what was at stake. Unlike Draco, words had never been his forte. The other prince had given him an out before. Harry could have rejoined Neville and Flint. The capitol would have fallen eventually, but Draco would have fallen with it. He saw it clearly now — the decision Fleur had made, the decision Draco had made, the decision he now was making — the crown or his heart.

“When I first met Draco in Slytherin, I did not know him. I was blinded by my prejudice. But I came to know him—“

“No, Harry!” It was the other prince.

Harry plodded along, “I came to know that he was an honorable man, a capable leader, a kind friend—“

“Harry—“

“He protected the house-elves, he always took care of his men, and he did it all alone. For so long, he was fighting alone. My presence was cumbersome to him, I knew that. He could have easily gotten rid of me after the fiendfyre incident, but he stood up in front of the Slytherin Council and vouched for me. He saved my life even thought he knew it might cost him his. That’s the kind of man he is. And I love him, too.”

Harry stared at Draco, willing him to understand all the things he couldn’t say aloud. Draco stared back with the same earnest. Tom sighed heavily, “Well that was very quaint, but the testimony of a kingslayer is not valid evidence. There has been a plot against Slytherin, a plot to incite war between our two kingdoms and if it’s not Draco, who might you suggest it be?”

“You,” Harry said plainly, “I call upon Councillor Pettigrew.”

Pettigrew was dragged forth. The Chief Warlock peered down at him, “Councillor Pettigrew. You have been summoned for your testimony in the case against Draco Malfoy of Slytherin. What evidence do you have?”

“He’s guilty,” Pettigrew answered.

“No!” Harry shouted, “You lying _rat_! You’re a coward!”

Pettigrew continued on, “I’ve been kept prisoner for months. He threatened me! I’ve witnessed his treachery first hand. I’ve seen him sending secret messages—“

“That is a _lie_!” Harry roared.

“Enough!” The Chief Warlock interrupted, “The Wizenmagot is ready to pass its sentence.”

Tom was smirked, “Draco, did you really think you’d win at this little deceitful game of yours? You knew better than to rely on Pettigrew.”

“It’s not Pettigrew I’m relying on.”

“It’s _me_ ,” Severus Snape appeared in the entrance. He strode forth, his black cloak flailing behind him. He took a knee before the Wizenmagot, “I am Severus of House Snape. I am employed as a physician in the prince’s household — before that I served his father. But that is not the entire truth. I was a spy. And while I was employed so, I unraveled the first of many of Lord Riddle’s underhanded schemes, including one against King Lucius.”

“Ridiculous!” Tom interjected, “You have no proof.”

“I was young and hungry for power. When I confronted Lord Riddle, he offered me the very thing I wanted in exchange for my silence. I unwisely accepted. I had no idea the extent of my actions,” he turned to Draco, “Please forgive me,” and back to the Wizenmagot, “But I do have proof. He pulled from his robe a carefully wrapped package of letters. These are posts that I carried between for years between Lord Riddle of Slytherin and Dudley of Gryffindor outlining their plans for treason. After Lucius died, I refused to be of service any longer. That was when Gregory Goyle was brought into the fold,” he procured more letters, “These were letters found his body between Lady Fleur and the Regent. There is one in particular that outlines the plot to poison King James calling specific attention to the exact poison that was used.”

A silence fell on the room. The letters were passed to the Wizenmagot. They murmured amongst themselves. Finally, the Chief Warlock stood, “We hereby absolved Draco Malfoy of all charges and are bringing forth charges against Dudley of Gryffindor and Lord Riddle of Slytherin.” Draco’s shackles were dissolved.

“You’re all traitors!” Dudley stood, “I order you as king—“

“It’s over,” Draco answered and rose. Harry rushed down beside him. “You came for me,” the blond was smiling.

“I told you, you’ll never be alone again.”

“How dare you defy me?” Tom had brandished his wand, “You will never be king! You’re going to die first.”

“Take them!” Harry ordered. The soldiers, having accepted the Wizenmagot’s decision as law, sprang into action. Dudley was quickly subdued — never having been much of a fighter. There was a loud, almost ear-splitting cry outside. Harry grinned. It was their armies. Neville and Flint had breached the wards. Blaise, Hermione, Ron, and the others would be far behind. The remaining loyal members of the Regent’s faction were still fighting. They formed a defensive barrier between the two princes and the Regent.

It was chaos. Bodies were falling all around Harry. It seemed whenever he would neutralize one of Tom’s followers; another would appear to take his place. Through the commotion he heard someone calling his name. By the time he saw it, it was too late — that blinding flash of green light. Something solid collided with him. Heavy, it knocked him over. Harry hit the ground; the last thing he saw was a glimpse of blond hair.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry awoke to Ron’s face being very close to his own. His head hurt. It wasn’t the only thing.

“He’s awake!” the redhead announced, “Give him room!”

Then it was Neville hovering over him — eyes blinking rapidly. Harry tried to sit up. It was difficult. He was supported on each side by Ron and Neville. Ron and Neville, that meant they made it inside the capitol. He looked around. There were bodies strewn all over the palace.

“Tom!” He cried.

“Gone,” Neville replied, “The capitol is yours, your highness.”

“Gone?” Harry wondered and looked in the direction Neville had pointed. There was only a pile of dust remaining, “I don’t understand. How—Who—“ Harry stopped mid-sentence. His eyes had wandered too far. On the ground, in between the dust pile that had previously been Thomas Riddle and Harry, was the very still body of —

“No!” Harry pushed to his feet, struggling against the pain. He collapsed quickly, ignoring the hands that offered to help him. Instead he crawled across the marble floor until he reached Draco. Harry was suddenly aware he was breathing very hard. His heart felt like it was too big for his chest.

“He’s going into shock,” Hermione called, “We should have _waited_.”

There was more arguing. Harry heard none of it. Across the hall, Blaise was holding a crying Pansy; his own shoulders shaking. Smith stood beside them in disbelief. Flint was kneeling — his head bowed in silence. Ron, Neville, Seamus, Hermione, Luna — their faces solemn. Harry willed himself to look back down. Someone had readjusted the body. Harry was sure he did not lay as he fell. It was far too peaceful. He slipped his hand into the other prince’s. It was cold to the touch.

“Wh—What happened?”

“We broke through the wards,” Ron explained, “We made it into the throne room. You both were fighting. Tom cast the killing curse. You were too far. We never would have made it. You didn’t see but — but he did. He threw himself in front of it. He saved your life.”

Harry felt like he was suffocating. There was not enough air moving through his lungs. This isn’t how it was supposed to end. This _isn’t_ how it—Harry shook his head vigorously, “Tom?”

“I don’t know what happened. The curse rebounded.”

“I do,” Luna interjected, “It was the greatest sacrifice. Love is the only thing stronger than the killing curse.”

“Aside!” It was Snape, “Aside _now_.” Everyone moved quickly except Harry, who couldn’t move at all. Snape knelt on the other side of Draco — wand waving. Silvery dust erupted from his wand and settled around the prince’s body. “He is alive,” the physician reported, “Barely. Rebounded killing curses are very rare. The last known case happened over a century ago. It was widely believed to be an old wives’ tale — until now. The prince is not dead. He’s in an enchanted sleep.”

“Well how do we wake him?!” Harry demanded. He felt the undeniable embers of hope.

“That is not known.”

“Perhaps, you should kiss him,” Hermione offered. Everyone stared at her. She went on, “It’s a Muggle fairytale. There’s a sleeping princess. She’s awaken by true love’s kiss.” Everyone turned to Harry. Harry looked down at Draco; all of his hopes hinging on a Muggle bedtime story. Harry leaned forth and kissed the other prince. Nothing happened at first. But Harry was nothing if not resilient. But then the hand he was still holding felt warmer. Then lips moved against his.

“Harry!” the blond sat up.

“Don’t try to move! Are you all right?”

“I—What happened? I was — There was Tom and — Tom!”

“He’s gone.”

“Gone?”

Harry quickly repeated the same story. They both stared at the pile of dust. He helped Draco to his feet. Pansy collided with them in a heap; sobbing and clinging to them both. Blaise wrapped himself around them. Luna was clapping wildly. Everyone else followed in a similar manner.

“Harry,” he turned to see Hermione cradling a baby in her arms, “We found him in the nursery. I don’t think Dudley ever gave him a name. Probably suspected it wasn’t his child.”

A pair of strikingly similar green eyes gazed back at him. Draco was beside him, “It’s you in miniature.”

“James,” Harry decided, “His name is James.”

“Do you hear that?” the other prince asked. It was coming from outside. Together, they approached the balcony that overlooked the south side of the palace. Below, the palace courtyard was flooded with the banners of all four kingdoms. The crowd erupted into loud cheering at the sight of the two princes, which soon transitioned into chants of “long live the king!”

“You’re a king now,” Harry remarked.

“So are you,” Draco answered, “You were never a slave. You were born to be king,” he dipped his head in a slight bow, “Long live the king.”

Harry seized his hand and kissed it, “Long live the king.”

 

**FIN**

 

* * *

 

 

This was wild. Thanks for coming along for the ride! I felt like I just ran a marathon -- except from my bed, in my pajamas. Below is my entire soundtrack for the story, enjoy!

Lions in Cages - WOLF GANG

Viva La Vida - COLDPLAY

Glory and Gore - LORDE

Red & Gold - YOUNG RISING SONS

Run The World (Girls) - BEYONCE

Stay - JASMINE THOMPSON (Rihanna Cover)

Strange Love - HALSEY

Chronic - PHOEBE RYAN

Mercy - SHAWN MENDES

Hero - REGINA SPEKTOR

Sound Of Your Heart - SHAWN HOOK

King And Lionheart - OF MONSTERS AND MEN

for him. - TROYE SIVAN

Drag Me Down / As Long As You Love Me - GARDINER SISTERS

The King And All Of His Men - WOLF GANG


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